


Where The Heart Is

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complete, Poverty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you have a second chance at love, sometimes you have to take it. No matter what might follow. No matter the cost. No matter how far you might fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, I find myself with a concept that intrigues me enough to re-write season one again to accommodate it: what if Regina's deal at Rumpel's cage wasn't for comfort? What if she offered him what she knew he would want?

The power was out again.

Anna flicked the switch a couple more times to be sure, but nothing happened. She pushed the door wider and groped about on the shelf by the door, searching for the matches, and lit the candle they always had there just in case. 

It was cold.

A three-sweater night, she guessed, making her way across the floor to the counter that was the kitchen.

There were other candles there too, but she lit them sparingly. It wasn’t that they were expensive, but they needed to be more careful these days. What little they had went on food, and getting enough gas to keep Iain’s car running so he could at least try to get some work.

She unpacked the groceries. 

Once in a while, if she’d managed an extra shift or two at the diner, they’d get fresh fruit or even meat. Mostly, though, they were used to living out of cans, because that way, they could just use the small portable gas stove that Iain had found in a dumpster. 

She lit the small gas stove and filled a pan with water.

It wasn’t the best way to make tea, but it was cold, and tea helped.

There was something bitterly ironic, she thought, that by choosing to live with a man called Gold, she was one of the poorest people in town. She could have left him, gone back to her father, to comfort, to a decent house that wasn’t just a one-room apartment. 

She could have, but she never would. She’d left him once, and regretted it more than anything. He might not be the easiest man to live with, but he tried for her sake, and for that, she loved him. 

She unfolded the sofa and pulled out the duvet while the water boiled. It was going to be a colder night than it had been in a while. The wind off the sea was bitter, and she knew it made his bad leg play up. If she wrapped herself in the blankets, then they would be warm for him when he got back, and it would help.

By the time Iain got back, it was late and dark.

Anna was nestled in the blankets, reading by the light of a candle on the dresser. 

Iain stopped dead in the doorway at the sight of her, as if he hadn’t ever seen her before. He was breathing hard, and he slammed the door behind him. “You’re here,” he said, one hand braced against the wall.

Anna smiled, closing her book. It was a favourite and so well-read that the covers were coming loose. She set it down on the floor. “Where else would I be?” she asked.

Iain closed his eyes, taking a gulping breath of air.

Anne frowned, worried. “Iain? Are you all right?”

When his eyes opened, there was something dark and hot and fierce in them, something that she hadn’t seen for a long time. He almost prowled towards the sofa bed, dropping his cane as he came, and knelt down on the edge. “I feel like I have seen you in forever,” he growled, crawling across the sofa bed towards her.

She reached for him at once, wrapping her arms around him as he pressed her back against the back of the sofa. It was heat and it was passion and it warmed her right down to her toes. As he slid his arms under the blanket to hold her, he lifted his head back from hers, and his skin almost seemed to glow gold by the candlelight.

“I love you,” he said, softly, worshipfully, as if he had never said it before.

Anna’s eyes brightened. This, she knew, was why she had come back and this is why she would always stay. “I love you too,” she whispered, pulling him back down to kiss him again, wrapping the blankets around both of them. 

 

_______________________________________________________

 

Ruby hated working the early shift, but it had to be done.

It felt like she was always on it, no matter how much she complained to Granny. She was there to open up, put out the sign, and stuck with the smell of bacon grease in her hair for the rest of the day. 

She wasn’t surprised when Anna showed up.

She always did, hoping for any work that might be going.

Anna French was a sweet girl. Dark-haired and with blue eyes that looked way too big for her thin, tired face. She always had a smile, but it was edged with wary hopefulness. She must have been through a lot, Ruby figured, but no one knew what.

She was also Gold’s girlfriend.

That was the only thing that went against her. 

If everyone liked Anna, everyone in town hated Gold. He might have been one of the poorest men in Storybrooke, but he worked for someone higher up. He took their money. He took their profits. He took anything they had, and they just had to be grateful that they never had to deal directly with his employer.

Anna approached the counter, twisting her hands together. “Hey, Ruby.”

Ruby wished she could have smiled, but Gold had been by the night before, when they had their first guest in years. “Hey,” she said. She glanced towards the kitchen, and saw Granny shake her head, her expression grim. Ruby’s heart sank and she looked back at Anna, who was looking so pleadingly at her. “I’m sorry, Anna. We don’t have any shifts open.”

Anna’s mouth turned in an accepting smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just thought I’d ask,” she said, looking down. She rubbed her hands on her hips, and took an unsteady breath, then raised her head, smiling again. “If anything comes up?”

“We’ll let you know,” Ruby murmured, watching as Anna turned and walked out the diner. 

“Poor girl,” Granny said. “Hooked up with that man.”

“Couldn’t we give her one shift?” Ruby asked. “She doesn’t look like she’s eaten today.”

Granny’s expression was stony. “If her boyfriend hadn’t taken all the money last night, sure,” she said sharply. “You want to go and tell him to cut the rent so we can pay his girlfriend to earn enough so she eat?”

Ruby shook her head, retreating back into the kitchen.

 

_________________________________________________

 

Miss Swan was going to be a problem.

She already had Regina on edge, and Graham could understand why. Regina loved her son and protected him, and Emma Swan was a threat to the stability they had. Not that she seemed to be threatening in anyway.

That was what was puzzling Graham.

Emma Swan just wanted to be sure that Henry was all right, and he was, but Regina was attacking blindly, as if she suspected Emma wanted to take Henry away from her. The more she pushed, the harder Swan pushed back, and Graham wasn’t sure which one of them would break first. 

He was halfway back to the station when he saw Anna French sitting on one of the benches opposite the library, bundled up in her coat, her hat tugged low over her ears. He pulled up by the kerb, rolling down his window. “You okay, Miss French?”

She looked at him, startled, then her customary smile crossed her face. “Just sitting.”

“No shifts at the diner?”

She looked down at her hands in her lap, shaking her head. 

Graham had always liked her. She was a sweet girl, kind to anyone, but because of her choice of lover, she lived on the bad side of town, and scraped a living. He hadn’t seen Gold around, which meant she must have walked in.

He knew he should be off chasing down Miss Swan for a crime she didn’t commit, but Anna French looked drawn and unhappy, and needed a break. “Jump in,” he said. “You can come down the station and help me with organising some paperwork.”

Her expression brightened, and he knew it was more to do with being in the warmth of the station than anything to do with police procedure. She hurried around the hood of the car and scrambled into the passenger seat. 

“I’m good at filing,” she said breathlessly. “What do you need done?”

He couldn’t help smiling ruefully. “I’m sure I can find something.”

Her smile, for a moment, was so much brighter than the usual brittle one she wore. A true smile. He found his own turning his lips in kind. “Thank you,” she said softly, wrapping her arms across her middle.

“You haven’t seen the paperwork yet,” he warned, pulling away from the kerb.

 

________________________________________

 

Emma Swan was taken care of.

With enough prompting, she was going to leave. The look on Henry's face, when he believed his oh-so-brave and perfect birth mother thought he was crazy was... warming. Regina knew he would come back to her, to his real mother, and she would wipe away his tears and tell him she would keep him safe.

She smiled, even as she pruned and neatened her mutilated tree.

She heard the creak of the gate and the tap of Gold's cane on the path.

"Madam Mayor."

She didn't need to turn. Like everyone else in town, he did what he was told. "You're late."

"There were delays in payments," he said, his voice quiet and neutral. "The Lucas woman was distracted."

Regina's lips pressed together. Miss Swan had caused a lot of problems for everyone. She turned to look at him. "But you have my payments?" she said.

Mr Gold - once her master, now her pet - limped towards her and held out a thick roll of notes. She didn't need to count it. She never had. He was obedient, and for good reason. Their deal was very specific. He had the criminal reputation, but no one knew she was the one pulling his strings, and she was happy to keep it that way.

She could remember him in the enchanted forest, sleek and dangerous and moving like a predator. In this world, he was just a man, thin, slight, in suits that were too big and fraying around the cuffs. He looked unimposing, almost ragged, nothing like the impressive figure he presented as Rumpelstiltskin.

She smiled, taking the money from him.

"You seem to be in a good mood," he observed, laying his hands, one over the other, on the handle of his cane. 

Regina smiled, turning back to the tree. "And why not?" she said. "I just rid the town of a public menace?"

"Miss Swan?"

She looked over her shoulder sharply.

"I caught a glimpse of a newspaper," he said with a dismissive shrug. "Sidney's work?"

"Mm." Regina brushed some shavings of wood from the torn branch. "I expect she's halfway back to Boston by now."

Gold made a small, noncommittal sound in his throat. He seldom said much to her, to anyone for that matter. She had ensured that his life was as uncomfortable as it was possible for a man to be, with only the barest of essentials. He had turned quiet and cold and still, as unlike himself as was possible. No flourishes, no grand gestures, no wicked laughter.

She turned, looking at him. "What?"

He shrugged again, face creasing expressively. "I saw her on main street not five minutes ago," he said. "Your boy was with her. It didn't look like she was going anywhere."

Regina's stomach felt like it twisted. Her hand tightened around the roll of bills. "Do you know anything about her, this Emma Swan?"

Gold's brow furrowed. "I met her once," he said. "We crossed paths at the Lucas guest house."

"But what do you know about her?" she demanded. "You made the contact to get me Henry. What do you know about his mother?"

"I know she's here. I know she's a problem for you, based on your response." He tapped one finger on top of the fingers of his other hand. "I know that Henry seems to be drawn to her." His eyes were dark and cool. "Beyond that, I don't know what you expect me to know."

Regina searched his face. He looked as unwavering and steady as he always had. If she asked him a question, he would answer it. If she told him to do something, he would obey. They had an arrangement. Until the curse broke, she thought with a dark smile, Rumpelstiltskin was hers to do with what she willed. He could not move against her. And the curse would never break. An appropriate fate for the man who had manipulated hers.

"If you find out anything about her," she said. "I want to know."

"I'll keep my ears open." He inclined his head slightly. "Please excuse me," he said. "I need to get home."

"Of course," she said at once, startling herself.

Before she could change her mind, he turned and limped away.

 

_______________________________________________

 

The Sheriff was being kind.

Anna knew he had no reason to, but he was a good man, and he let her stay in the station until it was time for him to lock up. It wasn't that she hadn't helped: she had spent most of the afternoon sorting through the files and putting them into some kind of order. She didn't expect something for nothing.

He apologised that he didn't have the authority to hire any staff to just deal with paperwork, but he'd slipped a twenty into her purse when he thought she wasn't looking, and as much as she wished she had some pride, she pretended she hadn't noticed. He also bought sandwiches from the diner and offered her the one he claimed he couldn't finish.

He had no reason, she thought again, but she still took the sandwich and wolfed it down.

By the time night fell, the filing cabinets were almost in some kind of order, and she had done some cleaning up around the office as well. It didn't need much, but it felt like she was taking advantage of his good nature. He walked her to the door and saw her out with a smile.

"I'll call on you if we have rogue files," he said.

Anna flushed. "You don't need to..."

He rolled his eyes. "It's hardly any trouble, little thing like you," he said. "Run along, or your boyfriend'll come after me." 

She hurried out into the evening, pulling on her gloves. There was an autumn chill in the air. The walk back to the apartment took nearly an hour, and when she got there, she could see that Iain was already home. The car was parked in the street, and there was light coming through the cracks in the curtains. 

She ran up the stairs, opening the door, and stopped short in surprise.

Candles were lit all around the room, on the small dresser and shelves. The sofa was folded away, and the covers were stacked neatly in the corner. One of the little folding tables was set out in front of the sofa, two glasses on it, and Iain was at the counter, serving food out of boxes. The smell made her stomach growl.

"What's going on?" Anna asked, looking around uncertainly.

"Bonus from the Mayor," Iain replied, looking over his shoulder at her. "I thought you deserved something nice."

"Nice?" she echoed, shedding her coat and hanging it on the peg behind the door. "Iain, we can't afford this."

He turned as she approached him, and offered her his hands. She took them at once and he drew her closer. "I had a little windfall at work," he said. "We can live with candles and firelight, but just for once, I wanted to get you a nice meal that didn't come out of a tin. Is that such a bad thing?"

Her eyes were pricking and she shook her head.

Iain wrapped her up in his arms and squeezed her tight. "Go and wash up. I'll have it dished up when you come out."

She nodded, hurrying to the bathroom. It took her breath away, as it always did, when he made such simple gestures for her. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, pale and thin, and wondered - as ever - what it was that he saw in her. She splashed water on her face, pinching some colour into her cheeks. She also unbraided her hair, and quickly dragged a brush through it, loosening it around her shoulders in the way he liked best. 

By the time she emerged, he was as good as his word, and had two dishes of food served up.

Not just any food she thought in shock.

He had gone to one of the bistros and got a proper meal of roast lamb with all the trimmings. He offered her one of the plates with a smile that was almost shy, hopeful, and she accepted it with a smile of her own. She couldn't remember the last time they had something so nice.

"I'll carry your plate for you," she offered. "You sit down."

"Because I've cooked like a good man about the house?" he said wryly.

Anna giggled. "Very professionally," she agreed. "You can bring the cutlery."

He followed her over to the couch, bearing the cutlery, and Anna tried not to think about the expense going on this one little treat as she sat down. He poured wine into their best tumblers, and accepted his plate from her as he sat down by her side.

She took one of the glasses. "To us?" she said.

"And a better year," he agreed, tapping his own glass to hers. "I think things are going to turn around soon."

"Oh?"

He unfurled his fingers dismissively. "A hunch," he said. "Don't let your food get cold."

She set down the glass and dug into the meal. It was wasted on her, she knew, as she tried to take her time and failed completely. It was delicious, but she was too hungry to savour the delicate sauce and the ornately cut vegetables, and she felt her cheeks flush when she realised she has sauce dripping down her chin.

Iain set down his own fork to lean over and wipe the smear of sauce away. He had a silly, soft look on his face. "I'm glad you're enjoying it," he said, sitting back.

She caught his hand and licked the sauce off his thumb, then kissed the ball of his thumb. "I am," she said, hiding a smile at the way his breath hitched and his cutlery rattled. He picked up the fork and made himself pay attention to his food. Anna recognised the flush across his cheeks, and felt the blush in her own.

The night before had been nice, nestled together beneath the blankets and just kissing and holding one another, but they both knew what the other was thinking.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, occasionally glancing at one another over their plates. When they were both done, she was the one to rise and take their plates to the kitchen. He was the one to refill the wine. When she returned to the couch, she sat a little closer to him, one of his arms around her shoulder, one of her hands resting on her thigh.

They spoke, softly, of what she had done during the day, of what he had done, and the level of the wine in their glasses fell and the candles burned lower. 

Slowly, slowly, his hand started moving in a circle on her shoulder through her shirt, and she turned beneath his arm to look up at him. She wasn't sure who moved first, but all at once they were kissing again, slow, soft, and she heard the thump of the empty glass falling onto the floor as she pulled him closer.

His shirt was undone, and hers was tugged over her head. She shivered as his mouth moved on her, and her hands sought his belt. It wasn't skilful or graceful and they were both more than a little bit giggly and drunk, but when he laid her back on the couch, and she sank her hands in his hair, she couldn't care less.


	2. Chapter 2

The clock had started moving.

Henry knew it was because of Emma, even if she didn't believe it.

Things were starting to change all around them. People were starting to wake up, even if only a little bit. 

He kept his book close at hand, searching the pictures and trying to match the drawings with the faces all around him. Before, when he tried, it kept getting fuzzy, like the curse was trying to keep him from seeing what was there, but now, with Emma, everything was clear.

It wasn't until they went to visit the hospital that he found Prince Charming for Snow White.

He was in the hospital, in a private room, and Henry recognised him right away. He had the same scar, the same face, everything, but Mary Margaret Blanchard didn't know him. No one knew him, and Henry knew he had to get her to remember who he was.

He was sitting on a bench outside of the school, waiting for his mom, and looking at the book.

"Exciting story?"

Henry looked up.

Miss French was standing there, her hands in the pockets of her coat. She always smiled at him, and he thought she must be really nice, but everyone always told him to stay away from her because she was living with Mr Gold. Everyone said it was a bad idea to mess with Mr Gold or people he considered his. 

He looked around warily, in case anyone was looking, then smiled at her. "It's the best book," he said. 

To his surprise, Miss French sat down beside him, looking at it with interest. "Is it an adventure? With daring sword fights? Magic spells? A prince in disguise?"

He grinned at her. "How did you guess?"

"The best stories are," she replied.

Henry turned the pages, wondering if she was anywhere in it. "What's your favourite story?" he asked. So many people in Storybrooke didn't care about stories, because they were made not to. They lived their lives and that was all. They didn't ask questions or wonder why no one left.

"I couldn't pick one," she admitted, and he sighed, thinking she must be just like everyone else. "I do like classic stories, though, and fairytales."

Henry looked at her, startled. "You do?"

She sighed happily. "I love them." She smiled warmly. "There's something about reading about other worlds, old places, and imagining what they're like." She nodded across the road to the library. "I used to work there until it closed. I loved being surrounded by books."

Henry nodded. "What if a world in books was real?" he said carefully.

Miss French closed her eyes with a happy sigh. "I think that would be wonderful," she said. "Sometimes, you need a little magic in the world." She shook herself, opening her eyes, a crooked smile crossing her lips. "But I'm being silly," she said. She nudged him playfully. "What's your book about?"

He chewed his lip for a moment. Everyone knew Mr Gold was bad news, and Miss French was dating him, but no one else cared about stories. 

"I can't tell you yet," he said, closing his book. He could see his mom's car coming down the street, and shoved the book into his backpack before she could see it again. He hadn't had a chance to see Emma about the John Doe, and his mom wouldn't understand. 

"A secret?" Miss French said in a whisper. "Sounds exciting."

He looked at her, wondering if she might be able to help, like Emma and Archie. "Maybe I'll tell you soon," he said, scrambling up as his mom pulled up by the sidewalk.

Miss French smiled. "I'd like that," she said, rising too. She put her hands back in her pockets and nodded to his mom, as she rolled the window of the car down. "Madame Mayor."

His mom smiled the little half-smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Miss French," she said. "How's the job-hunt going?"

"Going okay," Miss French said. Her smile looked almost as blank as his mom's. "See you later, Henry."

Henry climbed into the back of the car, pulling the door shut, and pulled on his seatbelt. Miss French waved, as the car pulled away, and he heard his mom snort.

"I don't think you should talk to that woman, Henry," she said. "She's not a respectable person."

Henry hugged his backpack in his lap. "She seems nice," he said.

His mom looked at him in the rearview mirror. "She's seeing Mr Gold," she said. "She might seem nice, but I find that very hard to believe."

Henry gritted his teeth and hugged his backpack tighter. She always told him everyone was bad news, and that she was the only one her could trust to be worried about him. She lied about Emma. If she said Miss French was bad, he wasn't going to believe until he saw something with his own eyes. 

 

_____________________________________________________

 

 

The longer she spent in Storybrooke, the weirder the town was getting.

Coma patients didn't get up and go hiking in the woods. 

Mayors weren't crazy and corrupt and ready to frame a visitor to town for being some half-perceived threat.

Kids didn't believe that whole towns were cursed and that their adoptive mother was an Evil Queen keeping Prince Charming and Snow White apart.

Emma kind of wished she could just walk away. Drive away. Whatever.

She couldn't, though. Not as long as Henry was unhappy. Not as long as Regina kept pushing and pushing. 

Emma knew she wasn't a hero, but Henry looked at her with his father's eyes, and trusted her in a way that his father never had, and she couldn't back away or leave him or deal with him with the tears on his face, and the desperation in his voice. She remembered being that kid, the kid who tried to ask for help, but being shot down time after time. She couldn't let him end up that way. Not now, not ever. 

That was why she'd accepted Mary Margaret's offer of a room, and that was why she was now doing the grocery shopping. The store was deserted, and the only sound was the clerk sneezing from time to time.

Emma wandered through the aisles, pausing when she saw a young woman standing by the shelves of baked goods. She recognised the look, and the thin, pinched face of someone who hadn't eaten enough for a long while. The woman reached out for one of the individual cakes, something that could be easily tucked into a pocket, then hesitated when Emma moved, stepping into line of sight. The woman's hand fell to her side, and she stepped back.

Emma watched her from the corner of her eyes.

So Storybrooke wasn't as squeaky-clean and picket-fenced as it first appeared. 

The woman ducked her head, turning away, and picked up the cheapest loaf that was available, setting it in her basket. Several tins of processed food and a small bottle of long-life milk were added. Every price was checked with care, and Emma felt embarrassed for the woman when she had to put back several of the tins to replace them with tampons.

She stopped where she was and looked warily at Emma.

Remembering what it was like to be stared at like that, Emma turned her attention to her own shopping.

She reached the counter as the woman was having her basket rung through.

She couldn't help looking away uncomfortably as the woman opened her purse and dug through every pocket, finally scraping together enough to cover the cost of her groceries. The woman didn't look like she was embarrassed, but there was a pride in poverty that Emma remembered well: if you held your head high, you could pretend that no one was noticing that you were wearing rags. 

The woman patiently packed up her groceries into a bag she tugged out of her pocket, then smiled at the clerk before heading for the door. 

Emma paid for her own items, then headed back in the direction of Mary Margaret’s loft, wondering if there were many people on the breadline in Storybrooke. Everyone seemed so settled in a comfortable, stable lifestyle that seeing someone hungry and poor felt jarring.

It was true she hadn’t seen much of the town, but most of the houses seemed pretty big, and there weren’t many apartment blocks that she had noticed. She must have looked pensive while she unpacked the groceries, because Mary Margaret looked at her in concern.

“You okay?”

“Hm?”

Mary Margaret smiled crookedly. “You were a million miles away.”

“Storybrooke is a pretty respectable place, right? Plenty of jobs and stability?”

“I guess,” Mary Margaret said, frowning. “Why?”

Emma shook her head, taking the last of the things out of the bag. She set them down. “There was a girl at the store,” she said abruptly. “Coupla years younger than me. Tiny. Looked like she hadn’t eaten for days.”

“Ah.”

Emma looked askance at her. “Ah?”

“That’d be Anna French.”

“You know her?”

Mary Margaret looked back down at the pan she was stirring. “Everyone knows her,” she said. “She’s seeing Mr Gold. They live together in an apartment on the east side of town.”

“Mr Gold? The guy who seems to own everyone?” Emma said, wondering why she was so shocked. She knew of plenty of guys who dated small, meek girls and kept them in check with violence or by keeping tight control of money.

Mary Margaret nodded. “Her dad tried to get her to go back home, but she wouldn’t leave Gold,” she said. “She looks like she’d snap in half at a breath of wind, doesn’t she?”

“Doesn’t he feed her?” Emma said, furious. “She hardly even had enough money to buy bread!”

From Mary Margaret’s silence, she knew no one asked questions. 

That was the rule in a small town. People kept their own problems closed up. You didn’t ask and they didn’t tell. 

“I saw him taking money from Mrs Lucas,” Emma said, slamming cartons into the cupboard with unnecessary violence. “He took more than enough to buy food for them. She didn’t even have any notes in her wallet.”

Mary Margaret shrugged helplessly. “I heard she tried to get work at the diner, but no one wants to get on his bad side,” she said quietly.

“What’s so special about this guy?” Emma snapped.

“We just know he works for someone bad,” Mary Margaret replied. “Not someone you want to get into any kind of trouble with.”

“So he’s a shark?” Emma was liking him less and less. 

Mary Margaret looked up. “If it’s a choice of keeping your home or getting between him and his girlfriend, most people are selfish,” she said. “He’s got a lot of sway, and half the property in town is owned by his employer.”

“And who is this mysterious employer?”

Mary Margaret lifted the pan off the stove. “Could be someone high up in politics,” she said. “Could be the nice man who owns the bank. Whoever it is, they don’t make a big show of it, but I’ve heard enough horror stories not to want to cross them and find out.”

Emma thought of the way the woman’s hand had reached for one little sweet treat, something that she could never afford, and remember shoving sandwiches into her own pockets and candy bars down her waistband. 

“Someone should,” she said quietly.

 

_____________________________________________

 

Graham looked around the tiny apartment.

It always came as a surprise that Gold - the man notorious for taking everyone’s money and the major power-player in town - lived somewhere that was so small and dark. Anna looked embarrassed when he flicked the light switch and nothing happened. 

“Power’s out,” she said self-consciously, as she dabbed at her eyes with a wet cloth.

Graham glanced at her in surprise. “I didn’t hear about any problems on this block,” he said.

Her face reddened, and he wanted to kick himself. He saw how little she had. If she was barely scraping enough together to eat, how could she be expected to keep up the payments to the power company? 

“I’ll open the curtains,” she said.

“You sit,” he insisted. “I’ll do that.”

The place was small, and the windows equally so. Opening the curtains didn’t help much, but he looked around anyway. Whoever had chosen to rob the apartment was probably someone with a beef with Gold. He couldn’t imagine any other reason for picking it as a target.

Anna sat on the edge of the couch. 

She hadn’t seen her assailant. Whoever it was, they were hiding behind the door when she came home. The thief had sprayed her face with mace before she could get a good look, then pushed her over and bolted. She wasn’t hurt, but her eyes were still red and inflamed.

“Do you know if anything’s missing?”

Anna shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe some of Iain’s paperwork, but I don’t know enough about it to be able to tell.” She sounded small and tired and not a little bit frightened. 

“I should call him,” Graham said.

Anna shook her head vehemently. “You don’t need to worry him,” she said. “He’s working.”

Graham gazed at her. “He’ll be more upset if he comes home and finds you like this,” he said, taking out his cell. He offered it to her. “You can call him, if that’ll be better. I need to see him anyway, to see if he knows what’s been taken.”

Anna looked at the cell, then nodded reluctantly, taking it from him. 

Graham went and checked the door, which had been busted open from the outside, checking for evidence, as she called on Gold. 

He didn’t know what to make of Gold himself. 

Everyone knew the man was trouble, but Graham had listened to Anna talk about the man, and there had to be something there that they didn’t see, something worth her time. She wasn’t a stupid woman, that much he was sure of, and she wasn’t someone who would stay with a man out of fear or pity, no matter what anyone else believed.

“He’s on his way,” Anna said quietly, closing up the cell and holding it out to him.

Graham crouched down in front of her. “You’re going to be okay,” he said, closing his hands around hers and the cell. He searched her face. “How about this? Just so you don’t end up stuck in here all day every day, you come and give me a hand around the station? I have a feeling that I’m going to have a lot more paperwork now.”

Her lips twitched in a small, frail smile. “You don’t need to pity me, Graham,” she said.

“Who said anything about pity?” he said, squeezing her hands. “You’ve just generated a mass of paperwork for me and you know how bad I am at typing.”

“The two-finger approach,” she agreed. She drew one of her hands free and wiped at her eyes again. They were still seeping tears. “I can type up your reports for you.”

“And fetch my doughnuts,” he said, nodding gravely. “It’s a very serious job. Not exactly official or well-paid, but I’m sure I can slip you something under the table.”

To his relief, she managed an almost genuine smile. “That would be good,” she admitted.

They both looked up when a shadow fell in through the doorway.

Graham released Anna’s hand, straightening up. “Gold.”

Gold ignored him completely, but for pushing him out of the way, and fell to his knees in front of Anna. He dropped his cane and lifted his hands to frame her face, thumbs brushing tears from her cheeks. He searched her eyes. “You’re hurt.”

She lifted her hand to touch the back of his. “I’m all right,” she said softly.

Graham averted his eyes as the well-known villain of the town gathered his lover in his arms and just held her for a moment. She held him just as tightly, and she was the one to push him back, her hands on his shoulders.

“Graham needs you to see if anything is missing,” she said, her voice calmer and surer.

Gold nodded, rising.

There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, but the drawers in the dresser had been pulled out and a wooden chest had been broken open. Gold leafed through everything, and Graham could see the way his expression blackened. Something had been taken, something important.

“It seems they didn’t find what they were looking for,” Gold said lightly, lying through his teeth as he got to his feet.

Graham met his eyes. “You sure about that? If they didn’t find what they’re looking for, they might come back and try again.”

Gold set himself between Graham and Anna. “Trust me,” he said, smiling like a shark. “I don’t think we’ll have any further problems.”

Anna rose, stepping alongside him, and slipped her hand in his. “He’s just trying to help,” she said quietly, resting her cheek on Gold’s shoulder. Gold turned his head to hers, his cheek brushing her brow, and he nodded.

“Thank you for your time, Sheriff,” he said. “But I’m afraid there’s nothing more for you to do here.”

Graham looked between them, then nodded in return. “If you think of anything,” he said, more to Anna than to Gold.

“We’ll be in touch,” Anna promised. 

Graham could tell that he was intruding on something between them, and stepped out of the apartment at once. The door closed quietly behind him.

He stood on the step for a moment, gazing out into the street. Whatever anyone else said or believed, anyone who thought Gold didn’t care about his lover was completely wrong.

 

___________________________________________

 

Ashley was tired.

She knew she should be scared, but all that had faded away the second they put her daughter in her arms. Her daughter. Not someone else’s, not now. It was true she could have gone about things differently, but she had her child, and Emma Swan had promised that she was safe. There was no contract, no one taking her baby away from her. 

There was a crib by the bed, and the nurse had asked her if she wanted to rest, but the last thing she wanted to do was put Alexandra down. After everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, she didn’t want anything between her and her daughter.

The door creaked as it opened, and she looked up, expecting to find a nurse.

Her heart thumped painfully. 

“M-Mr Gold.”

He was standing in the doorway, watching her coolly. “Miss Boyd.”

She held Alexandra closer, and saw the way his eyes flicked to the baby. “Emma said you weren’t going to take her,” she said, trying to sound defiant. She failed, her voice breaking, shaking. “You’re not taking my child.”

He tilted his head just a little. “Did I say I was here for her, dearie?” he murmured, walking into the room and closing the door behind him. “Oh no. I have much bigger fish to fry.” He approached the bed and drew the curtain, hiding them both from the nurses. “Tell me, Miss Boyd, what did you think would happen when you attacked my lover?”

Ashley felt like all the blood was draining out of her body, leaving her weak, shaking. “I-I thought it was you.”

Gold’s dark eyes were narrowed. They almost looked black. “Twice the fool I thought you to be then,” he said in a low growl. “You could have blinded her.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Ashley whispered, pressing back against the pillows. “I couldn’t let you take my baby away from me.”

He tutted, and before she could say anything or move, he plucked Alexandra from her arms and stepped back from the bed. The baby was asleep and didn’t know the danger she was in, but Ashley knew and she reached out desperately. 

“Please! Please, don’t!”

Gold gazed at her expressionlessly, then looked down at Alexandra. “A healthy baby,” he murmured. “Decent size.” His eyes returned to Ashley. “She has her father’s nose, I think, don’t you?”

“Please, don’t hurt her,” she implored in a shaking whisper. “Please.” She didn’t dare shout or even hit the alarm to call the nurse. She didn’t know what he might do, either to Alexandra or to her. All he had to do was open his arms and Alexandra would fall, and she would never, ever forgive herself.

Gold unwrapped Alexandra, touching one of her small, pink hands. “For someone who was so willing to sell her,” he said quietly, “you seem remarkably protective.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your girlfriend, I swear,” Ashley said. She could feel tears on her face and dragged herself closer to the edge of the bed. The epidural was still working, and she could barely feel her legs at all. “I-I’ll make it up to her.”

Gold’s eyes were suddenly on her face and she felt like she’d walked straight into a trap. He turned around and laid Alexandra down in the cradle, tucking the blankets neatly around the baby, and smiled, calm and quiet and all the more terrifying for it.

“Yes,” he said. “You will.”

 

____________________________________________

 

Anna was in bed when the door opened, and her heart leapt in panic. She sat up sharply among the blankets. She could see a figure outlined in the doorway and for a moment, she felt like she was reliving the instant when a faceless stranger sprayed her and pushed her.

“It’s just me, love,” Iain said softly.

Anna’s hands unclenched from the knots they were in, tangled in the blanket. “Oh,” she whispered, laughing shakily. “I thought…” She shook her head. “I was being silly.”

“There’s nothing silly about it,” he said. “You were attacked in our home. It’s bound to make you a little uneasy.” He lit a candle by the door, and carried it over to the sofa bed, cupping his hand around the flame. “How are your eyes?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Anna tilted her head towards the light. “Less pink,” she said with a small smile. “I don’t think they suit that shade.”

“No,” he agreed, leaning forward and kissing the tip of her nose. “Blue is best for you.”

She settled back under the covers as he put the candle on the dresser. “Busy day?”

He nodded, shedding his jacket and undoing his tie. Even though they had little, he always kept his suit crisp and neat, any frays patched immediately. A good impression on first glance, she thought. It was the most important thing. He was good at that. 

“I have some good news,” he said, as he finished undressing, hanging his suit up on one of the coat hangers. “Miss Boyd has asked if you might be able to help her in the near future.”

Anna frowned in puzzlement. “Why would she want my help? We’ve hardly spoken before.”

Iain pushed open the bathroom door and hung the suit on the hook on the back. He didn’t bother fetching a second candle to light his way. “She’s had her baby,” he called back through from the bathroom over the sound of running water. “She’s not quite ready to deal with it on her own, and I… suggested you might help. For a price.”

Anna stared at the open doorway in surprise. “Iain,” she said, as he appeared out of the darkness, drawing the door shut behind him, “why were you even talking to Ashley Boyd?”

He came over to the bed, and she pushed the covers back for him, letting him climb in beside her. “I had been the broker in what would have been Miss Boyd’s adoption,” he said. “She changed her mind. I had to ensure that all parties were satisfied.”

Anna nestled against him, her head on his shoulder. “She changed her mind?” she murmured. “Was there paperwork, by any chance?”

Iain’s arm was around her shoulder. “There was,” he said quietly.

Anna closed her eyes. “And did she take it?” He was silent for so long that she knew exactly who it was that had attacked her. “Iain,” she said quietly. “Did you bully her into taking me on to help her?”

“She wants to make amends,” her lover murmured, the candlelight casting odd shadows on his face. “And she’s going to need all the help she can get with that child. A kindness for you and a mercy for her. It would do her child no good if she was locked up for assault.” There was a forbidding tone in his voice when he said, “I could have done a lot worse to her for harming you.”

Anna sighed quietly, laying her hand over his heart. “Thank you for that, then,” she murmured. “It wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”

He tilted his head and pressed his lips to her hair. “Only for you,” he whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma looked around the station.

It wasn't exactly unfamiliar, what with ending up behind bars there, but now, she was there in a completely different role. Privately, she wondered how much of Graham's offer was out of a desire to spend more time with her. It wasn't all that, she knew. He clearly hated having to bend to the Mayor's whim, and she wasn't ever going to do that. But a lot of it was his crush, which was strange, but kind of sweet.

She couldn't remember the last time a decent guy had flirted so awkwardly with her.

A clatter from Graham's office made her jump.

"Sorry!" The thin woman from the store gave her a shy smile. She was carrying two large bags of trash. "I was just cleaning up for the night."

Emma looked at her in surprise. "You work here?"

The woman ducked her head. "Not officially," she said. "Just help out from time to time." Her smile was a little stronger. "Graham's pretty tidy, so there's not much I can do."

"Yeah," Emma said. She held out one hand. "I'm Emma Swan."

The woman looked down at her hands and the trash bags. "Hold that thought until I wash up," she said with a half-smile. "But I can do the other part at least: I'm Anna French." She studied Emma with clear blue eyes. "I think I saw you in the store a few days ago?"

Emma shifted self-consciously, recalling that she was the reason the woman hadn't shoplifted. "That was you?"

There was something calm, steady about the woman's gaze. "Yes," she said. She was challenging Emma to deny what she had seen, and Emma couldn't. Anna looked down at the trashcan. "I should empty this," she said. 

Emma stepped aside, letting her head out of the office.

In her absence, Emma sat down on the edge of the desk, waiting for Graham.

For all that Anna French looked thin, frail, and pale, she seemed calm and content. Then again, the longest-suffering victims were the best at covering it up. Her experience with Gold regarding Ashley Boyd had done little to change her first impression. The man was a callous, manipulative bastard.

The door opened and Graham stepped in, an ugly khaki bundle in his arms. "You're here!" he said, sounding surprised.

Emma straightened up from the desk. "I said I would be," she said, eyeing the stack of clothing in his arms. "What the hell is that?"

Graham shook it out proudly. "I dug out a uniform for you," he said.

Emma took the shirt from him, eyeing the high-buttoned collar dubiously. "Seriously?"

He nodded, smiling. "If you're going to be deputy, people need to be able to see that."

Emma held the shirt up against herself, looking down at it. “A tie?” she said. “You know you don’t have to dress a woman as a man to give her authority.”

Graham raised his eyebrows. “So you think you can get people to do what you want in that red coat?”

Her lips twitched, and she tossed the shirt back to him. “I’m getting you to do what I want right now,” she pointed out. He looked torn between surprise and amusement, shaking his head, as she put her hands on her hips in wordless challenge.

“Will you at least wear the badge?” he asked, offering it.

Emma looked at it in disbelief. Of all the places to end up like a deputy in a western, Storybrooke, Maine wasn’t on the list. She must have looked like she expected it to bite her, because Graham waved it.

“Go on. Take it,” he cajoled. “If you really want to be a part of this community, you have to make it official.”

She didn’t know why she hesitated.

Maybe it was his choice of words.

Part of the community.

The last time she had been part of a community was more than twelve years earlier. Not a single member of that community wanted to be there, and not a one of them gave a damn whether or not she was part of it or not. Not even the people who were meant to care about her well-being would have noticed. Not a one of them remembered her.

But there was the thing.

Henry was here.

Her son.

The child who had come and found her against all the odds. 

She reached out and took the badge, and it felt like a bit of a let down when it was nothing more than a badge, cold and metal against her fingertips. Maybe she’d been listening to Henry too much, but for a second, she’d almost expected a spark or something.

She studied it, then hooked it on her belt.

She’d expected a spark or something.

What she didn’t expect was an earthquake.

She barely had a chance to steady herself. The phones were ringing themselves off the hook, and she exchanged looks with Graham. A hell of a way to start her first evening as deputy, she thought as they ran for the door, the cleaner hastily dodging out of their way as they passed.

 

_____________________________________________________

 

There was a lot going on.

Sean had heard about the sinkhole that had opened up on the edge of town the day before. Ashley had taken the baby for a walk to see what was going on, but there was too much noise and too many people, with no one able to tell her what was happening. No one seemed to know.

The morning after it happened, The Mirror announced that the hazard was to be filled in and no one was to approach it.

"A lot of fuss, huh?" he said, folding the paper up, and finishing his breakfast

Ashley looked up from Alexandra. “Hmm?” She looked sleepy, her hair mussed.

Sean couldn’t help the soft, stupid smile that crossed his face. It was true that his father had kicked him out and hadn’t offered a penny to help with the raising of his granddaughter, but when he looked at Ashley and Alexandra, Sean knew he’s made the right choice.

Their apartment was small, and since Ashley had come home from hospital, it looked like a disaster area, but he picked up after himself as much as he could and he knew Ashley was working her hardest to keep on top of things, while he toiled in the cannery.

He would rather be at home with his girls. Any new father would have.

But babies cost money, and if it meant working until his fingers bled, he was more than willing to do that.

“This sinkhole thing,” he said, picking up his cup and finishing his coffee. “Kind of worrying that there’s unstable ground so close to town.”

Alexandra made a small, fretful sound, and Ashley rose at once, cradling the baby against her shoulder. Sean knew she was worried about being a bad mother, and she worried over every little whimper and cry, even though she tried to pretend otherwise.

He set his cup down and rose, laying his hands on her shoulders. “I can ask for time off, if you need me to stay,” he offered quietly.

“You shouldn’t,” she whispered. He knew why she was saying it. They’d gone over their finances over and over again, and if they were going to at least keep to the safe end of the red, then he needed to work. He couldn’t be home, where he wanted to be, no matter how much he wanted it.

It didn’t matter if she needed him to stay.

Sad fact was that she needed him to go more than she needed him to stay.

He kissed her hair. “I’ll be home tonight,” he said. “Try and get some rest if she goes down for a nap, okay?”

He headed out to work. The cannery wasn’t the best place to be. It was constantly noisy, even with ear protection on, but it paid decently, and it wasn’t challenging work. He just had to stay focussed and try not to catch himself in the machinery.

He heard the news when the shift change came: the Mayor's son and Doctor Hopper were trapped in the mines. People were swarming around the area, and he only stopped by briefly. Most of them were rubbernecking, and hardly a one of them was doing anything useful. The Sheriff was there, and there was no question that the doctor and the boy would be out of the mines one way or another. 

Sean headed home instead, his feet dragging. It had been a long shift, and he just hoped Ashley had managed to get some rest when Alexandra was sleeping.

When he opened the door of the apartment - as quietly as he could - he stopped short in astonishment. 

The apartment was tidy.

Coats were hung on pegs by the door. The diaper packs and baby stuff that had been scattered all over the place had been put away, stacked in neat piles by the wall. All the surfaces had been cleaned. A window must have been opened too, because the air was fresher, no longer stuffy and smothering. Even the floor had been mopped.

Sean set down his rucksack by the door, walking further into the apartment, dazed.

He heard humming in the bathroom, and approached the door, pushing it a little wider.

The woman scrubbing the sink looked around, startled. She was a slight brunette, and her hair was pulled back severely. Her small hands were encased in rubber gloves and she offered him a quick, bright smile.

"Who the hell are you?" Sean demanded.

"Anna," she said, setting down her sponge and tugging off one of her gloves. She held out her hand, and Sean found himself taking and shaking it without thinking. "I'm here to give Ashley some help around the house."

Sean stared at her. "That's kind of you," he said. Ashley hadn't had a big circle of friends, not even when they were at school, and she'd definitely never mentioned anyone called Anna. "I don't remember her saying any friends were coming around."

The smile wavered for a moment. "Probably not," she agreed. "But I'm here now, and she's asleep in the bedroom with the baby. Looked like she could use a nap."

"Yeah," Sean agreed, dazed. "She did."

She put her glove back on. "I'll just finish up in here," she said, "Unless you need to use it?"

"No, I'm good," Sean said, eyeing her in confusion. "How long have they been asleep?"

Anna pushed the cuff of one rubber glove down. "Going on two and a half hours," she said. "Ashley said you should wake her when you got in."

He nodded, withdrawing from the room. He'd seen the woman around, but he didn't know anything about her. She didn't look like she fitted in his father's circles, and none of the women his parents socialised with would have spent a day scrubbing and cleaning an apartment until it gleamed. 

Sean headed for the bedroom, pushing the door open as quietly as he could. Ashley was curled on her side on the bed, fast asleep, and - tucked in a nest of pillows close to her - Alexandra was waving contentedly, her dark blue eyes studying at the ceiling. 

He knelt down beside the bed, propping his arms on the edge of the mattress, and leaned over Alexandra. She turned her head to stare at him, and stretched up one hand towards his face.

"Hey there, beautiful," he whispered, nuzzling at her palm. Her tiny fingers curled against her cheek, and he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

The bedding shifted and he looked up to find Ashley looking sleepily over at him.

"You're back," she murmured.

"Just," he agreed softly. 

Ashley pushed herself up into a sitting position, rubbing her hands over her face. "God," she said, glancing at the clock by the bed. "I didn't realise I'd slept so long."

Sean sat up on the edge of the bed, scooping Alexandra carefully up into his arms. "Both of you," he said. He looked over at her. "I see we've got help." He couldn't miss the fleeting look of fear and anxiety that crossed her face. "Ash, who is she?"

Ashley looked up at him. "She's Mr Gold's girl," she said in a whisper.

"Gold?" Sean felt like something cold and unpleasant had settled in his stomach. Everyone knew Gold. Everyone knew you didn't cross him. "What's she doing here?"

Ashley looked down at their daughter, touching Alexandra's hair with her fingertips, her hand shaking. "I screwed up, Sean," she whispered. "When I told you there was an adoption, he was the one who arranged it. I-I tried to take back the paperwork. I... did something stupid." Her eyes rose to his, filled with tears. "I owe her."

"You owe her?" Sean said softly. "So she's cleaning the house?"

"Paid housekeeper," she confessed quietly. "Just one day a week."

Sean stared at her. "Ash, we don't have the money..."

She nodded unhappily. "If we don't pay her, Gold'll make things worse," she said. She looked pale and drawn in the dim light. "I could go to jail."

Sean stared at her. "Ash, what did you do?" he whispered, drawing her closer.

She curled against him, shivering. "I broke into his place. I-I thought it was him. Maced him. But it was her." Her voice quivered and broke. "She knows. I know she does."

"And she's here, cleaning our house?" Sean shook his head. "I don't understand. She's Gold's girl. Why does she even need to work?"

Ashley shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered. "But I couldn't tell him no. They might have taken Alexandra from me."

He nodded, pressing his lips to her hair. "I know," he said quietly. "We'll make it work somehow." He glanced back at the door. "At least she's actually doing the work, huh?"

Ashley laughed unsteadily. "She seems like she enjoys it," she said. "Is she still there?"

He nodded. "Working on the bathroom." Ashley rested her head on his shoulder and he looked down at her with concern. "You okay?"

"I-I kept wondering if Gold maybe sent her to try and take Alexandra," she confessed in a whisper. "I was going to go for a shower, but I didn't want to leave her alone with the baby."

He gave her a squeeze. "Well, I'm here now," he said. "Want to face the beast?"

Ashley nodded. "She's not so bad," she said, crawling to the edge of the bed and getting up. "Either that or she's a really good actress." She pushed her fingers through her hair and smiled. It was such a fragile expression, so unlike her once-bright smile. "Shall we?"

Getting up carefully, Sean adjusted Alexandra against his chest. "My ladies," he said, bowing as much as he dared with the quietly-burbling baby in his arms. 

Ashley led the way back through into the living room.

Anna had clearly finished the bathroom, because she was putting the bottles of cleaning products away under the kitchen sink. She turned with a smile. "I hope I did okay," she said, looking around the room. "I'm sorry if I put anything in the wrong place."

"It's great," Ashley said. "Really. Thank you."

Anna shrugged self-consciously. "I like cleaning," she said. "It's therapeutic. I like to be useful, and it was nice to have some company."

Sean couldn't help thinking they were strange choices of phrase. Why she needed something therapeutic, he could guess, given her boyfriend, but how many people who had gained a job with menaces said appreciated the company? "How much do we owe you?"

The woman blushed and she shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted. "I'm a bit out of the loop when it comes to working."

Ashley took Alexandra as an excuse to lean closer to Sean and murmured just how long the woman had been there. It wasn't quite as long as his own shift at the cannery, and he worked out what the basic wage would be. There was no question of giving her less than she had earned. If they shorted her, Gold would be out for blood. 

He pulled out his wallet, peeling several bills out. She accepted them awkwardly, and flicked through them, but it was Sean who felt uncomfortable by how little he had handed her. "I'm a bit short now, but I can get the rest to you by the end of the week," he said.

"Oh!" Anna looked at him startled. "Don't worry about more than that! You have a baby to look after."

Sean glanced at Ashley who looked equally surprised. "We can't pay you less than you earned," he said. "It wouldn't be fair."

She shook her head again with a small smile. "Trust me, little is better than nothing." She slipped the bills into the pocket of her skirt. "Don't worry. I won't tell Iain." She smiled warmly at Ashley. "Same time next week? Maybe we can take Alexandra for a walk too?"

Ashley stared at her. "You're serious?"

Anna nodded. "I wasn't lying about the company," she said. "It's been a while since I've had any."

Ashley nodded, bewildered. "I-I guess," she said.

The woman smiled again, quick and bright. "I better be going," she said. "I'll need to get some food on the way home."

She hurried out of the door in a flurry of skirts, leaving Sean and Ashley staring after her.

"What just happened?" Sean asked.

Ashley shook her head. "I don't know."

 

______________________________________

 

David Nolan was learning to walk in a world that was familiar but as strange to him as outer-space. There was a woman who said she was his wife. There was another woman who felt like she should be. There was a house that wasn’t his home. There were people who said they were his friends.

His thoughts drew back to Mary Margaret like a moth to a flame.

In all the strangeness, in the blur of names and faces, she was the only person that felt like she was meant to be there for him. 

They had never met before.

She’d told him that and he believed her.

But when he looked at her face, it was as if he knew her from somewhere. Maybe from once upon a dream. He almost rolled his eyes at his own idiocy when he thought that. 

He knew she wouldn’t be with him, not with Kathryn - his so-called wife - in the picture, so he did the only thing that seemed sensible to do. He took a bag and he left the place that wasn’t his home and told Mary Margaret that he wanted to be with her.

They were going to meet, where she saved him, so many days before. They were going to meet and then, their future could start, but only - and once more, he cursed his memory - if he could find the way there. The Mayor’s directions hadn’t helped at all.

He stood on the street corner, by a stack of crates and boxes and God knew what, staring at his map in confusion. It had made sense only a little time before. 

“Trying to find somewhere?”

David spun around.

There was a man standing only half a dozen paces away, leaning on a walking stick. David wasn’t sure how he’d managed to sneak up, but he was standing there as if he’d been there the whole time, a placid smile on his lined face. He looked about middle-aged and at least he looked like he knew where he was.

David turned the map in his hand again. “I’m looking for the Toll bridge,” he said. “The Mayor said there was a turn-off down this road, but it looks like it goes to a dead end…”

The man smiled dryly. “It seems Miss Mills has led you astray,” he said, holding out his hand for the map. He sounded completely unsurprised. He turned the map in his hand. 

David laughed ruefully. “Yeah,” he said. “You’d think the Mayor would know her own town.”

The man’s lips twitched. “One would think,” he agreed. He tapped his finger to the map. “We’re here, so if you follow this road in that direction,” He nodded ahead of them, “and take a left after two blocks, you should be on the right path.”

David took the map back with a relieved smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know why she sent me in this direction.”

The man’s eyes darted over to the heap of garbage that looked like it was waiting to be picked up by the trash cart. “I can’t imagine,” he said, his dark eyes flicking back to David.

David was folded up his map and glanced at the heap, his hand pausing halfway to his pocket. His eyes was caught on something in the heap, something that had been forgotten, lost, sold or stolen. Something he knew. Something he had… disliked enough to throw out so many months before, but now, it was right there, reminding him how much he hated it. “Huh.”

“Spotted a diamond in the rough?” The man’s voice was dismissive, and no wonder. It was garbage and nothing more.

Still, David reached out and touched the sails of a model wooden windmill that was sticking out of one of the boxes. It still turned, he thought, as the sails spun with a soft clattering sound. It was from the garden. From the garden of his house.

“It can’t be,” he said distantly.

“I expect not,” the man murmured, though there was a strange brittleness in his. “Don’t you have somewhere to be going?”

David drew his hand back, but couldn’t tear his eyes away. He remembered hating the damned thing on sight. He remembered he and Kathryn argued about what to do with it, and she hid it in the garage for days. He remembered finally tossing it in the garbage, and yet, here it was, and he remembered. He remembered.

“I think,” he said distantly, watching the blades spin, “this was mine.”

The man stepped alongside him. “Looks like rubbish,” he said, his voice clipped. “Not worth making a fuss over.”

David shook his head, as if that could clear the memories that were piling in. It was like someone had turned on a faucet and they were pouring out, filling every space in his head, where they should have been all along. 

“No,” he said quietly, distantly. “Just rubbish. Not worth making a fuss over.”

It was his. His and Kathryn’s. Theirs. Together.

He looked at the man once more, and the man was looking back at him, wariness and something like disappointment in his eyes. David smiled uncertainly. Looking through garbage was probably not exactly polite after all.

“I should go,” he said.

“Yes,” the man said. “I think you should.”

David looked down the road. “That way?”

The man’s expression was half-hidden in the shadow cast by his hair. “That way,” he agreed. “I would hurry if I were you. Don’t want to lose what you were looking for, do you?”

“No,” David said, turning and hurrying off. 

Now, though, he wasn’t sure what that was.

 

_________________________________________

 

The apartment smelled great.

Even though she was wearing three layers and two pairs of socks, and was colder than she had been in a long time, Anna took refuge in the fact that the apartment smelled great. 

There was a pot of stew simmering on the gas stove. It was rare for her to be so adventurous, but with the extra money she’d been getting from both Graham and Ashley, it felt like the time for a treat. There was even the possibility, she knew, that they would get power back on in the next few days. It was all very exciting.

She looked over her shoulder when the door opened to let Iain in.

By the candlelight, she could see a shimmer of red on his hand and exclaimed in shock. She hurried over, snatching up his hand. There were splinters in it and thick beads of blood were welling from the wounds.

“Iain! What happened?”

Her lover looked down at his hand, and his features twitched as if he wanted to bare his teeth at it. “I may have had something of a fight with a box of odds and ends,” he said tersely, and she shook her head. 

Almost everything they owned had been found in someone else’s cast-offs. She often told him they didn’t need more, but he wanted her to have all the comforts of home. The latest effort was a teaset, all delicate china with flowers. It felt like a luxury to have a cup and saucer and not use a mug.

She led him over to the sofa. “Sit down,” she instructed. “I’ll get some water and clean you up.”

He complied, wrapping his kerchief around his hand so he could remove his coat without staining the cuffs. By the time she returned from the bathroom with a small basin of water - cloudy with antiseptic - and a small lantern, he had his shirt sleeve rolled up.

He looked up at her. “You were cooking,” he said.

She nodded. “Something hot for a change,” she said, kneeling down at his feet. “It should be ready in about fifteen minutes.” She laid a strip of a retired towel across his knee, and he placed his hand on it. “Can you hold the lantern?”

“I won’t have enough hands to swab your brow while you operate,” he murmured, as she took up her tweezers and lit a match to sterilise the tips.

Anna made a face at him. “One day, you’ll learn not to pick fights with inanimate objects,” she said, kneeling up and motioning for him to bring the lamp closer. She set to work easing the splinters from his hand. 

From the position, it looked like he had punched something, rather than being caught off guard by unexpected splinters in a box. His knuckles were peppered with them. He barely made a sound as she drew one after another out.

It was only when she dabbed the wounds with antiseptic that he hissed. “That hurts!”

“Well, if you didn’t beat up household junk, this wouldn’t have happened,” she pointed out with a patient smile. “Now, hold still.”

He snorted, but let her finish cleaning him up. It wasn’t really necessary, but she wrapped a strip of gauze around his hand, tying it in place with a bandage, in case of any more bleeding.

Anna bent over his hand and kissed it through the bandage. “There,” she said. “All better.”

He turned his hand to cup her cheek. “I wish that was true,” he said, sounding so sad and tired that she looked up at him in surprise.

She brought up her hand to gently touch his. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly. 

“What isn’t?” he asked, shaking his head. “You should be living in a palace like a Queen, but here you are, in the dark with an old beast like me.” He shook his head. “I almost hoped that something better was coming…”

Anna rose on her knees and put her arms around him at once. “I don’t need a palace or jewels or anything more than what I have here,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “You’re not an old beast, Iain. You’re a good man.”

His mouth turned up in a smile, but he shook his head. “You always did see the best in me, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I never understood why.”

She kissed the end of his nose softly. “Because I see you.”

He drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. “I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much.”

She held him, closing her eyes. “I know,” she whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

Graham felt like hell.

The dream was playing through his mind, over and over, fragments, images, blood and hunger. 

He'd never had such a vivid nightmare, not one that felt so real. He could smell the furs, the hide, the forest around him. When he'd looked into the red-eyed wolf's face, he wasn't seeing an animal. He was seeing a friend. A brother. A creature that was closer to him than anyone, anything.

Habit carried him to the station, even though it was barely an hour after dawn.

He didn't know what he was going to do there, but it was his haven, more so than his apartment. It was his den.

The thought almost brought him up short, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

He could see movement within the office, and pushed the door open.

Anna French was already in. She was singing along with the radio, as she stood on the bunk in the right-hand, polishing the windows. Graham's vision felt like it was blurring, and she was standing in a darker cell, one without windows, with marks all over the walls. She was chained there, chained to the wall like an animal. 

Graham stumbled closer and the image faded, but she was still behind the bars.

She looked around at him, and what she saw made her step down from the bunk, a startled look on her face. "Graham?" she said, reaching out to steady him. "Are you okay?"

He grasped her forearms, turning them over in his hands. There were no marks on her wrists. No marks of chains. No redness. No sign that she had ever been locked up. Because it was just a dream. It was. It could only have been a dream, because he couldn't imagine any world when he would have left a woman chained to a wall. 

He looked up into her face and remembered her eyes, bright with defiant, unshed tears, and for a moment, he caught the stifling scent of a dungeon. His legs trembled beneath him, and he knew he was squeezing her arms hard, too hard. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to leave you in there."

She drew one arm free and lifted her hand to his cheek. "Graham?" she said softly. "Are you all right?"

He flinched back, and the world was right again, familiar, and he was in his station, and she was safe here, not in a cell anymore. He had kept her safe here. He had.

"Graham?" she said again.

"I-I had a strange dream," he said. "I think I need air."

She nodded, worry creasing her brow. "Maybe go home? Get some rest? You don't look well."

Graham nodded blankly, and fled for the door. She was safe there, but he had to find what was going on. She didn't know. She hadn't seen, but someone had to. It wasn't a dream. It couldn't have been a dream. Not so clear, so sharp, so real.

The streets were quiet and he saw something move, darting into one of the side streets. Too big too be a cat, too wild to be a dog.

He felt like a hunter, tracking something, something so intangible, so unfamiliar, but so close to being within his grasp, and he ran. He saw a glimpse of it - wolf? Brother, my brother? - and followed. The forest surrounded him, trees towering on all sides, and he ran.

Something stirred in the brush ahead and Graham came to a halt. 

His chest ached, sharp shooting pains, and he searched the undergrowth. 

It felt like a let down when Mr Gold emerged from the bushes, a shovel in his hand. He stopped short, watching Graham warily. "Good morning, Sheriff."

"Mr Gold..." Graham's eyes darted around the clearing.

"Looking for something?" Gold said quietly.

Graham looked back at him. Gold. The man people feared. Who was dangerous and unpredictable. Who Anna - good, sweet, kind Anna - loved. Maybe he wasn't as bad as people assumed. The heart of a man wasn't always what people saw on the outside. "I thought I saw a wolf," he confessed, rubbing his sweating palms shakily against his pants. 

Graham wouldn't have blamed him for sneering or laughing, but Gold did nothing of the kind. "Sit down," he said, nodding to a fallen tree. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Graham sank to sit on the log, and spoke. The more he said about the wolf, the hunt, the deer, the crazier it sounded, but Gold's expression didn't change, not until Graham mentioned seeing Anna, and the strange image of her in a dark cell, chains on her wrists, and the knowledge that he wanted her safe. Gold's expression darkened. 

"Why would I dream of that?" Graham asked plaintively. He felt like a child talking to someone much older and wiser. "I would never do that to a woman. Why would I dream it?"

"It has been said," Gold murmured, "that dreams are memories of another lifetime." 

Graham looked up at him warily, fearfully. "Is that possible?" he asked. "Why would I lock Anna up? Why would..." He rose suddenly, remembering a blade, another face, someone who he only knew at a distance, but seemed to know so much better in another world. "Mary Margaret," he blurted out. 

"A friendly face?" Gold suggested, watching him guardedly.

Graham shook his head. "I don't know," he said. He looked at Gold. "I-I think I scared Anna. I didn't mean to."

Gold's lips twitched. "Don't worry, Sheriff," he said, inclining his head. "You'll find that Anna is a very brave young woman." He bowed slightly, almost extending shovel and cane in opposite directions. "If you'll excuse me, I have a home to get back to, and I think you should be finding your allies."

"Allies?"

Gold's eyes met his. "Perhaps that's the wrong word," he said. "Friends, if you prefer."

Graham nodded, turning and running back in the direction of town. Mary Margaret's face was a beacon, so familiar, yet so out of reach, and he had to know why.

 

 

_______________________________________________

 

He died.

Just like that, he was gone.

The first guy she'd let close in years, and he was gone.

He wasn't the first guy she'd kissed, in the ten years after Henry's father was on the scene, but there was a difference between being physically intimate and being close. Graham was the first one who was close. She wanted a chance for him to be close, and he was gone. Like that.

Heart attack, they said.

Nothing to be done.

Never saw it coming.

There was a feeling of shock in the town, like they'd never seen one of their own die before. It was damned stupid, Emma thought bleakly. Of course people died. They had a cemetery full of people. She saw names she knew as she followed the casket. Boyd, probably Ashley's old man. Lucas, Ruby's parents. Di Legno, probably Marco's widow.

Not one of them was as young as Graham. Not one.

She didn't cry.

She hadn't since the night he died. 

By the time the ambulance came, by the time they told her what she already knew, she was run dry. She nodded, and went home to Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret wept enough for both of them, and the next day, Emma was the one who had to break the news to the rest of the world.

People were shocked. Reeling. Even when the funeral happened, it was like they expected him to still be there. When they called the station, they asked for him, and every time they did, Emma had to close her eyes and take a breath before she could even try to help them.

Anna French came into the station the morning after the funeral. 

She had attended the funeral on the arm of her boyfriend. Dark looks from Regina and others kept them at a distance from the graveside, but she had laid a rose on the grave once everyone else left. Gold was expressionless, but he gave Anna his handkerchief, and when she started weeping in earnest, he put his arms around her, wordlessly comforting her. 

Emma had watched them from the edge of the cemetery, and she knew she was seeing something private, something that not many people saw. 

Anna stood silently by the door, tears on her face, and Emma knew that there was more to her affection for Graham than just a Sheriff and his cleaner. Graham was one of the few people who had offered Anna any kind of help. He'd watched out for her when no one else did.

Emma had asked him why the girl was hated so much. He'd been vague. Mostly, it was because of Gold, but he'd admitted that Regina didn't like her either. He didn't see any reason why a good person should be hated just because of the people she was linked to, and Emma knew that was when she'd started to soften towards him.

French looked at her in expectation, as if she expected to be dismissed, but Emma just nodded in greeting. 

"You know where everything is," she said abruptly. "I'll need help keeping on top of things."

Anna looked so grateful and relieved that Emma had to look away.

They rarely spoke. Emma wasn't a chatty person, and Anna usually focussed on her work.

As much as Emma wanted to ask about why the hell Anna stayed with Gold, she held her tongue. From what she could see, Anna seemed happy, and Gold did seem to care for her, which said there was more to him than met the eye. Anna was looking healthier than she had when Emma had first come to town. 

It wasn't her place, but at least she could guarantee Anna had enough money to eat.

She didn't know whether she was doing it in Graham's memory, or because of her own experiences in her youth, or even just because she wanted to stick it to Regina. It could have been a combination of the three. All she knew was that Anna showed up three days a week, and kept the office spotless. 

Everything changed two weeks after Graham passed away.

Emma came in late, after stopping in at the diner for breakfast, and found Anna standing by the desk that Emma had been using. She was holding the Sheriff's badge, gazing at it, and didn't seem to notice when Emma walked in.

"You okay?" Emma asked, shedding her jacket.

Anna looked up, startled, then smiled. It was a fleeting, sad expression. "I was just thinking," she said, "I'd heard that if you've been acting sheriff for two weeks, the job's yours." She turned over the star in her hands. "But it's like saying he's really gone."

Emma turned her face away for a moment. "He is really gone," she said, her voice tighter than she would have liked. It hurt like hell, but every time she walked into the station, she expected him to be there. She looked at the office that had been his, the one that had been sitting empty for a fortnight.

If she went in there, sat in his seat, it was like she was replacing him and that thought was like a punch in the gut.

She forced herself to turn and look at Anna, and the woman held out the Sheriff's badge to her. "Do you want to?" she asked quietly. "He wanted you as Deputy. I think he'd want you to be Sheriff."

Emma hesitated, then closed her fingers over the badge.

"What the hell is she doing here?"

Emma saw the way Anna flinched at Regina's voice in a way she never flinched from Gold. Emma turned to face the Mayor, her hand closing around Graham's badge. "She's working," she said.

If she hadn't been watching for it, she wouldn't have seen the fury blaze in Regina's eyes.

"And you have the right to employ anyone, do you?" The Mayor demanded. She glanced down at Emma's hand. "And I see you're stealing positions as well as men now."

Emma wanted to swing for her again. "I didn't steal anything," she snapped. "and I've been standing in as Sheriff for two weeks. Promotion's automatic."

Regina's eyes narrowed. "Unless the Mayor appoints someone within the time period," she said tartly. "Which I'm doing today."

Emma felt like she'd been doused in ice water. "Who?" she asked.

Regina smiled thinly at her. "After due reflection, Sidney Glass."

Emma's own snort of disbelief was echoed by Anna French, earning her a dark look from Regina. "Sidney? From the newspaper?" Emma said, hand on her hip. "How does that even make sense?"

“Well,” Regina said, “he’s covered the Sheriff’s office for as long as anyone can remember.”

Anna made a small, stifled sound, as if she wanted to protest.

“Yes, dear?” Regina said, her voice dripping venom. “Is there a point you wish to add before you take yourself out with the trash?”

Emma looked over her shoulder at Anna, who had lowered her head. For the first time since she’d met the woman, Anna looked frightened. Emma turned back to Regina, her eyes flashing angrily. “You can’t just replace Graham with that hack.”

“And you’re the better choice?” Regina said tartly. “The ex-con?”

Emma stepped closer to the woman, placing herself between Regina and Anna. “Graham picked me to be Deputy,” she said quietly. “Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to call out a bully when she tried to force her hand.”

The Mayor’s red lips twitched. “I don’t think you understand, Miss Swan,” she said. “You don’t have a say in the matter.” She snatched the badge from Emma’s hand. “You’re fired.” Her eyes flicked to Anna, over Emma’s shoulder, the malice there shocking Emma. “Both of you.”

She turned and stalked out, leaving Emma clenching her empty fist where the badge had been.

“You okay?” Emma said without turning.

“Oh, yes.” To her surprise, Anna sounded calm.

Emma turned.

Anna was watching the Mayor go. There was a fierceness in her expression that Emma had never seen before, a gleam in her eyes. “Tell me, Emma,” she said, “just how much do you want to be Sheriff?”

 

 

_________________________________

 

She heard the tap of his cane on the floor before he knocked.

Regina looked up across the desk at the man who she had known as Rumpelstiltskin.

"You called," he said placidly.

It always struck her as strange how inexpressive and neutral he was as a man. It was everything he hadn't been as an imp. There were no flamboyant gestures, no invasion of her personal space, no giggles or derisive little smirks. And, of course, there was the fact that he was entirely under her control. 

Or was he?

Emma Swan was getting a foothold in town, and now, she was standing against Regina's candidate, and she could think of no one else who would have the nerve to take a stand against her, not after so long.

"Mr Gold," Regina said, folding her hands on the desk. "Take a seat."

He sat down at once, setting his cane between his feet and resting his hand on top of the brass handle. "What do you need done?" he asked. 

That was the thing about Gold. He was direct. He answered her questions and did as she asked. Their final deal before the curse took their world. So far, it seemed to be holding, but sometimes, she had her doubts. She’d known him a long time after all. 

That last encounter, in a cage beneath a mountain, she had won in the end.

He had intended to negotiate for his own comfort, his own satisfaction, but she offered him something else: the woman who believed she loved him. Regina had no intentions of giving him any power or authority in the new world, at least not over herself. She demanded his service and his obedience in exchange for the half-starved, wild-eyed, prison-pale woman who had loved him once.

To Regina’s surprise, he didn't even hesitate, but there were conditions: they were not to be unhappy or parted when the curse came, and they were to be treated with courtesy.

So they had been.

Regina particularly liked the fact that while they had one another, that was all they had. Gold had no power or authority and had to get by on the reputation of his nameless employer. French had no meaning to her life or purpose beyond slavishly trailing after him. They lived in a hovel. They ate scraps. They raided the garbage for possessions. And everyone in town was completely convinced that the bony little Beauty was captive of the Beast.

It amused her, seeing what he had been reduced to.

"Miss Swan."

He inclined his head slightly. "What about her?"

"She has placed herself as a candidate for Sheriff opposite Sidney."

The surprise on his face looked genuine. "That's unexpected," he said.

"Mm." Regina watched him closely. "Apparently, she read about it in the town charter. You wouldn't happen to have mentioned anything to her about that?"

Gold snorted in mild amusement. "Miss Swan has been avoiding me since the affair with Ashley Boyd," he said. "Something about adoption upset her delicate sensibilities."

Regina leaned back in her chair. "So you haven't discussed the Sheriff's position with her?"

"Why would I?" Gold asked. "I work for you, and you've made it clear you don't want her there."

Regina smiled. "Yes," she said. "You do."

He looked at his cane thoughtfully, turning the handle between his hands. "She's been gaining favour in town," he said. He raised his eyes to her. "For her to lose this election, there would have to be something that absolutely destroyed her reputation."

Regina raised her eyebrows. "What do you have in mind?"

Gold's lips turned in a small, dark smile. "Something that will link her to me," he said, and there was a sharpness in his words as he added, "and we all know how well your townsfolk view people associated with me."

"You mean your dear little Anna?" Regina said. "I couldn't help notice that she'd been doing some work at the Sheriff's station."

Gold inclined his head. "Indeed," he said. "She's a stubborn creature, I'll give her that. I tell her to stay at home and do as she's told, but she persists in trying to find work." He tapped a fingertip on his cane. "That she has been volunteering at the Sheriff's station may be useful in undermining Miss Swan's reputation."

Regina's smile broadened. "What's going on in that cunning little brain of yours?" she said.

"Some loose ideas," he admitted, "but the results will all be the same: Miss Swan's honesty will be her undoing."

Regina laughed. "How delightful," she said. She reached into her desk and plucked out a bill from the roll tucked there. “For expenses.”

Gold’s eyes darted to the bill, then back to her face. “It may take a little more than that,” he said. “We need to make a big impression, unfortunately.”

Regina took another two bills and slid them across the table to him. “I look forward to see Miss Swan’s campaign crashing down in flames.”

Gold’s lips curved up. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, rising and tucking the bills into his jacket pocket. “You won’t miss the fireworks.”

She should have remembered that he was still a scheming bastard.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the repairs being done at City Hall exploded, the building catching alight, trapping her and Emma Swan inside. It only got worse when the damned woman saved her life, half-carrying her through the flames.

The paramedics had her on a gurney, breathing in gulps of oxygen, when she saw Gold and Swan. Swan looked furious, shaking a scrap of cloth she was holding in her hand, and Gold was showing her his best innocent expression, which was far from convincing.

“Sidney,” Regina rasped, coughing. “Get Gold over here.”

He nodded, hurrying over, and Gold inclined his head to Miss Swan, before following Sidney back. Emma Swan remained where she was, her eyes narrowed, and Regina could see that she didn’t trust Gold as far as she could throw him.

That was a comfort at least.

“Madam Mayor,” Gold said, approaching the gurney.

Regina waved Sidney away. “What the hell, Gold?” she asked hoarsely.

“Trust me,” Gold said, smiling slightly. “Miss Swan has a noble streak a mile wide. This won’t end well for her.”

“It better not.”

 

_________________________

 

 

Anna was tired and more than a little confused.

While she had pointed Emma Swan in the right direction regarding the town charter, she’d had no illusions that it was going to be a losing battle. People were afraid of Regina. No one except Emma had ever stood up against her.

And yet…

And yet, Emma Swan had won the election.

No one was as surprised as Emma herself, but Anna was pretty sure she came in a close second.

It all came down to the debate, which hadn’t been much of a debate at all. Emma had stood up, resignation on her face, and said she knew the fire was a set-up to make her look good, and she couldn’t win that way. Anna couldn’t believe it. And then, the icing on the cake: Iain was the one who had set the fire.

Anna was really confused.

In the days after Graham’s death, in the quiet of the night, they had talked about the remote possibility that Emma Swan could snatch the Sheriff’s post. 

Anna knew how much Emma meant to the man who had been her friend and ally. She missed him sometimes, so much that it hurt, but she couldn’t let his work to free the Sheriff’s station from council control be undone. So she and Iain had talked. He hadn’t offered any direct help, but he had pointed Anna in the direction of the town charter. 

All the way through, she knew it wouldn’t be enough to win, but it was enough to shake Regina up a bit.

And then they won.

Emma believed it was because she had been honest.

Anna had learned a long time before that people didn’t really care about the truth of any given situation. She knew that it was because Emma Swan, newcomer to town, had not only taken on Regina, but also stared down Mr Gold and told him she wasn’t playing by his rules either. She knew Iain set the fire, she blamed him, and she didn’t even realise that was just what he’d needed her to do.

Anna sat in the booth of the diner, trying to smile like she was part of the victory party.

They’d welcomed her.

It was disconcerting after so many months of being left alone and ignored. As much as she was involved with Gold, Emma spoke for her, and that made her acceptable. It didn’t make it any easier, though, in a room packed with people.

“You okay?”

Anna looked up at Ashley with a wan smile. “Getting by,” she said. “Enjoying the party?”

Ashley nodded over at Granny Lucas, who had taken charge of Alexandra and was cooing over her. “I don’t think I’ll see her for the rest of the night,” she admitted. She slid into the booth opposite. “You don’t look happy about being here.”

Anna looked down at her iced tea. “No,” she agreed quietly.

Ashley reached over and squeezed her hand. “If you want to take off, I’ll cover for you,” she offered. “You have a crazy arsonist to deal with, after all.”

Anna wished she could smile, but she couldn’t. “Let Emma know I went home?” she asked.

Ashley nodded. 

It was quieter outside the diner, and Anna slipped her hands in her pockets as she walked out onto main street. Ashley - after getting past the terror that Iain was still after her - was proving to be a good friend. Sometimes, she even looked like she might believe Anna, when Anna said that Gold wasn’t as bad as everyone assumed. Not often, but sometimes.

The arson attack didn’t help.

It was raining, so Anna hurried back in the direction of the apartment. 

After weeks without, it felt like a luxury to be able to open the door and switch the overhead light on. Heating was good too. They didn’t use it much, just when it got really cold, but they had a refrigerator now, and had scraped together enough food to stock it.

Anna put the kettle on and hung up her coat while it boiled.

She was tired and she was upset with Iain, and frustrated. 

It was true that his actions led to Emma’s election, but it felt like an insult, that all their work had counted for nothing, because all he had to do was set a fire, scare everyone, and he got what he wanted.

She was pouring the tea when the door opened behind her.

“Evening, love,” he said quietly. “I thought you’d be celebrating.”

She stirred the milk through the tea. “It’s more your celebration than mine,” she said quietly.

He was silent, and she heard the door click closed. 

She waited, wondering if he might try and bluff his way out.

“It was the only way for her to win,” he finally said. “She had to win.”

“Why?” Anna asked, setting the spoon down beside the saucer, and turning to face him. “Why is it so important?”

Iain looked at her, then down at his hand on the handle of his cane. “This town is stagnant,” he said. “It’s rotten. We need someone different.” He raised his eyes to hers, and there was something desperate in his expression: a plea for forgiveness, for understanding. “Someone who can make changes happen.”

“Is it really that bad?” she asked, gazing at him. 

When he nodded, when he lowered his eyes, she believed him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so low, it was little more than a whisper. “This was the only way.”

It pained her. It all did. That he had to be so destructive to make a point. That the town would not have responded otherwise. That Emma’s suspicion of him was only going to grow. But worst of all: that he was right.

“I know,” she said unhappily, turning back to her tea.

He didn’t say anything more. There was nothing more to be said.


	5. Chapter 5

Alexandra was asleep in her stroller.

Ashley rolled it to a stop at the bench, sitting down. She looked up at Anna expectantly. The woman was lost in a world of her own, and had been for most of their walk through the park. "Are you going to join me?" Ashley prompted.

Anna jolted, as if surprised, then smiled and nodded. "Sorry," she said. "Head in the clouds."

"It's still bothering you, isn't it?" Ashley said, gazing at her. "What he did?"

Anna folded her hands together in her lap. "I shouldn't have been surprised," she admitted.

Ashley looked into the stroller to check on Alexandra, unsure what to say. 

As good-natured and kind as Anna had proved to be, it was a shock to realise that she knew exactly what her boyfriend was capable of, and what he had done in the past. It was like two pieces of a puzzle that shouldn't match up, but did. Everyone was terrified of Gold, and with good reason.

There were rumours in town about the man's relationship with Anna. Everyone believed she did what he wanted. As far back as anyone could remember, she had no job and depended entirely on Gold. They didn't go out together, and the only time she was ever seen in town was when Gold was occupied on business.

That led to suspicions.

The fact she always wore loose clothing, with long sleeves and high collars, didn't help. There were never any visible marks, but she was thin, frail-looking, and half-starved.

And yet, the more time Ashley spent with her, the more convinced she was that Anna was no victim. She knew exactly what Gold was capable of. She didn't apologise for him or excuse him. She rolled her eyes fondly when she spoke about him, and sometimes, when she talked about their relationship, the smile that lit her face was enough to make Ashley jealous.

It wasn't that she would have given up Sean for the world, but with the baby to raise, and the house to take care of, and the housekeeper to pay off - they had to, because Gold would know if they stopped, and he wasn't as forgiving as Anna was - it was hard. It was exhausting and it was hard, and she hardly ever saw Sean anymore. 

Anna's presence helped so much, though. The woman took as little as she could, insisting that no matter how poor she might be, she wouldn't take any more from them. 

It was the fear of Gold's wrath, though, that kept Ashley slipping bills into Anna's purse.

Anna never commented and never argued. 

Sometimes, Ashley wondered whose pride Anna was protecting. It was one thing to pay a woman off because of your fear of her lover, but it was another entirely to accept money tucked into your purse by someone who couldn't afford it because you were too poor to refuse.

It had come as a shock when Anna admitted that Gold didn’t keep any of the money he collected for his employer. As poor as she and Sean were, Ashley was amazed to find that the most terrifying man in town was even poorer than she was.

And yet, Anna didn’t seem unhappy. 

"Have you spoken to Emma since the election?"

Anna nodded. "I still help out at the station," she said. "She's given me a desk, and I do a lot of her paperwork while she's on patrol." She hesitated, then looked at Ashley. "I-I think she might be hinting that she wants me to be her deputy."

Ashley's eyes widened in surprise. "But that would be great!" she exclaimed. "You've been looking for a job for so long, and you know the Sheriff's office better than anyone else."

Anna nodded, squeezing her hands between her knees. "If it was just because it's a job," she said quietly, "that would be great, but I think she wants me there to keep me away from Iain." She looked sidelong at Ashley. "I think she believes what everyone else around here believes about him."

Ashley felt the colour rising in her cheeks. "I don't know..."

"You know," Anna said simply. "He's not what people believe."

Ashley put her hand on the edge of Alexandra's stroller. "He admitted setting City Hall on fire," she reminded her companion. "He was going to take Alexandra from me."

"You signed a contract," Anna reminded her, just as quietly. 

Ashley nodded unhappily. She looked at her. "If she offers you the job, will you take it?"

Anna looked out across the park, sitting back against the bench. "I don't know," she said. "I don't know if I'm qualified."

Despite her discomfort at the mention of Gold, Ashley snorted aloud. "If an ex-con can be Sheriff, I think you can be deputy," she said firmly. She reached over and covered one of Anna's thin hands with her own. "You can do anything you want to do. You just have to take a chance. You could make a real change around here." 

Anna squeezed her hand and smiled. "I think you could be right," she said.

 

_________________________________________

 

It had rough week.

The transition from Deputy to Sheriff wasn’t as easy as Emma’d anticipated, especially not with Regina breathing down her neck and new paperwork being sprung on her from all sides. It was all a ploy to try and put her off, drive her out.

Anna French was there every step of the way to help her.

The day after the election, Emma ran into Gold in the street, and stared him down, telling him his tricks weren’t going to work anymore. He simply smiled and told her they seemed to have worked well enough to fool the world into electing her.

She’d felt like a very small piece on a very big board, and it had got to her enough to yell at Anna. To her surprise, Anna hadn’t denied anything. She said she didn’t know about his plan, and she looked so exhausted and unhappy that Emma believed her.

That was why Emma let her stay. Anything was better than leaving her alone in the company of the manipulative son of a bitch who called himself her boyfriend.

It didn’t hurt that she was one of the smartest people Emma had met in town.

Every time Regina or one of her winged monkeys swept in with a new form, Anna was ready for them. She would sit down and go through it with a fine tooth comb, fill in the relevant parts and hand it on to Emma to check and sign.

“You know anything about someone called Dory Zimmer?” Emma asked, frowning at the file in front of her.

Anna turned around from her desk. “Can’t say I know the name,” she said. “Someone new in town?”

Emma shook her head. “Someone who hasn’t been around for a while, I think,” she said. She closed the file. “I don’t want the Mayor involved until I know everything I can. Do you know anyone in town who might know about her?”

Anna bit her lower lip.

Emma groaned. “Ask him for help?”

“Iain knows everyone in town, in some capacity or other,” Anna said defensively. “He’ll help you with this one. I know it.”

Emma ran a hand over her face.

The more information they could get about Ava and Nicholas Zimmer, the better, even if it meant making a deal with the devil.

"Fine," she said. "Get him here and ask him."

Anna reached for the phone. "You'll have to ask him yourself," she said, her hand resting on the receiver. Emma looked at her in surprise. "You want the information, Emma. He'll only give it to you." A small, tired smile crossed her lips. "I can't force his hand when it comes to getting information out of him."

"You could ask him."

Anne tapped her pen against the desk. "I could," she said, "but you're Sheriff and this is official business." She met Emma's eyes. "I know you don't like him, but I can't do your job for you. I'll call him, but you'll have to deal with him."

Emma nodded reluctantly, retreating to her office, the office that once had been Graham's. His jacket had shown up the day after the election. She didn't know where it had come from, but she left it hanging on the hook by the door as a reminder of why she was in the post at all.

It terrified her, being responsible for the welfare of the people in the town. They came to her to help, and that was something no one had ever done before. They expected her to know what she was doing, and she didn't have a damned clue. She was walking blind, and just hoping that she was doing the right thing.

The only thing that made it easier was seeing the look on Henry's face when he saw her, whether she was on patrol or just wearing the badge. He looked at her like she was worth a damn. Graham had looked at her like that too. Mary Margaret did too. When they looked at her that way, she almost could believe it.

She sat down at the desk, opening the school records of the two children. It was crazy to think that no one had noticed they were fending for themselves, not in a town as close-knit as Storybrooke.

She only looked up at the sound of footsteps.

Gold.

She had only spoken to him twice since their confrontation in the hospital, once when she accused him of setting the fire, and the second time, when he had revealed the hand he was playing in arranging her success in the election. Part of her still wanted to punch him in the face.

Anna was on her feet and hurried towards him, a smile lighting up her face. "That was quick," she said.

He didn't seem to have noticed Emma as he caught Anna's hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly. "My lady commands," he said, with a warmth in his expression that caught Emma completely by surprise. "Is there a problem?"

Anna looked towards Emma in her office.

Emma could see the instant Gold saw her. He released Anna's hand to turn and face her, and the half-mocking little smile curved his lips. It was like shutters had come down behind his eyes. 

"Sheriff Swan," he murmured, lingering emphatically on the first word.

Emma stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. "Anna says you might be able to make yourself useful."

Gold's mouth turned up at one side. "Are you asking for my help, Sheriff?"

"Iain." Anna touched his arm, and his eyes darted to her hand, almost as if he couldn't believe she was touching him. For a man who had been in a relationship with the woman for months, if not years, Emma was surprised by the way his expression softened, and a brief, almost shy smile crossed his lips. Anna's look, on the other hand, was stern. "Play nice."

A wry chuckle escaped his lips. "As you wish," he said, turning his attention back to Emma. "You have a question, Sheriff?"

Emma nodded curtly. "Anna says you know most people in town," she said. "What do you know about a woman called Dory Zimmer?"

His dark eyes fixed on her face. "I may know something," he said with that same sly tone as he had used in the hospital. If he knew something, his expression told her, she wasn't getting it for free.

Emma grit her teeth. "What do you want?"

Gold looked down at Anna's hand, which had slipped down his arm to brush his fingers. He opened his hand, and her fingers threaded through his as if they belonged there. He looked back up at Emma. "Forgiveness," he said quietly.

Emma stared at him, startled. Of all the things she had expected him to ask for, that wasn't it. She unfolded her arms, studying him. "How about tolerance?"

He inclined his head. "It's a start," he agreed. He glanced at Anna, who seemed to take some unspoken meaning, and released his hand. She returned to her desk and to the paperwork she was sorting through. Gold watched her for a moment, then looked at Emma. "Miss Zimmer had an unfortunate life," he said. "A brief liaison produced her twins. The father was either uninterested or didn't know, and she ended up in some financial trouble that required... assistance." He shrugged. "She hasn't approached me lately, so I assumed matters had been settled."

"This liaison," Emma said carefully. "Do you know who it was with?"

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "She mentioned a mechanic. Tiller or Tillman." His smile was placid. "I tend to require all information about potential clients, but I don't remember all the details." He watched her for a moment. "Does that answer your question?"

Emma nodded. A name and a profession were a good start, and if she worked fast, she might be able to get the kids to their father before Regina drummed them out of town and into the merciless hands of social services.

"Thank you," she said.

For a moment, the smile that touched his lips almost looked as genuine as the one he had directed at Anna. "It's my pleasure, Sheriff."

 

___________________________________

 

It was a long while since August had been anywhere near Storybrooke.

There was a visit, once, to put a book in the right hands, but he hadn’t been brave enough to stay. His father was there, cheerfully oblivious to the fact that he had a son at all, and August wasn’t nearly ready to face the man he had let down.

He was meant to stay with Emma, watch her back, protect her, and he’d failed.

He’d had a hell of a good time, but that only made it worse.

Some little part of him didn’t believe she was really there, that it was all his imagination, but when he roared into Storybrooke on his bike, and her face was the first one he saw, he knew it was almost time, and that she had to almost be ready.

If the curse was shaking down already, if his leg was just the start of it, then she was on her way, and when the time came, he wanted to say he was there with her, standing by her side, as he should have been all along.

The kid was a surprise.

It didn’t take much to find out who he was: the boy adopted by the Evil Queen, son of Emma Swan and Baelfire, grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming and Rumpelstiltskin. When the curse broke, there were going to be fireworks.

Of course, sniffing around meant he got noticed, and when he got noticed, he was ready and waiting for the Sheriff to show up and grill him. 

Instead, a delicate-looking brunette woman slid into the booth opposite him in the diner, folded her hands on the table and smiled at him in a disconcertingly friendly way. “Hi.”

August frowned. He’d had it all planned: Emma would come over to dig up the dirt on him, and he would give her just enough information to get her interested. He’d even worked out what he was going to say.

“Uh, hi,” he said, staring at the woman. He didn’t know her, and that was… worrying. She was young, with dark hair drawn back in a braid, and clear, bright blue eyes. She wasn’t in any of the stories he remembered. He thought frantically, trying to put a name to her face. “Can I help you with something?”

She offered a hand. “Anna French,” she said. 

“August Booth,” he said without thinking, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m the Deputy in town.”

Emma had an ally? A Deputy?

August’s heart was sinking rapidly. “You work with Sheriff Swan, right?”

Deputy French smiled. “I do,” she said. “Just here to offer a Storybrooke welcome committee.” 

“Um.” He shifted on his seat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m waiting for someone.”

The Deputy’s eyes danced with amusement. “Oh! No, no,” she said, laughing. “I’m seeing someone. I was just in to collect food for Emma and I, and thought I’d say hi.” She nodded towards the windows. “There’s a storm coming, and I don’t think we’ll have time to get anything in the meantime.”

“I saw,” August said, flustered. He didn’t know her. There was someone in Storybrooke he didn’t know, and it wasn’t right. Every story in the book had all the details of who they were and where they fitted into the tale, but this smiling, bright-eyed woman wasn’t there.

“I’d say stay indoors,” Deputy French said, sliding out of the booth. “Enjoy Storybrooke, if you’re staying for a while.”

August nodded, watching her warily. “I will,” he said.

She returned to the counter, grabbing a couple of bags off Granny, then headed for the door without a backwards glance.

He waited until she was out of sight, then rose and went to the counter to pay for his own food. Granny glanced at him appreciatively, and he wondered how she would react if she knew the last time she’d seen him, he was in short pants and suspenders.

“Deputy seems like a nice girl,” he offered, sliding a bill across the counter.

Granny snorted. “That’s all you know,” she said. If there was anything more to her comment, she didn’t say it, just giving him his change, and returning to her work.

August was worried.

It was bad enough having Baelfire treading on toes, but a new player, someone he didn’t know and who the Blue Fairy didn’t anticipate, wasn’t good. It didn’t matter if she seemed harmless and looked like a breath of wind might knock her over. Sometimes, those were the most powerful people. Rumpelstiltskin was a perfect example of that.

The storm meant that town was quiet. People were holed up indoors. The wind was gusting and the rain was lashing down, and August kept to the shadows and the side-streets and watched the Sheriff and her Deputy at work.

The Deputy especially.

Paranoia was justified, especially if French was there to get in his way.

He made his way, soaked and shivering, to the convent, pounding on the door. No one in the town was talking about French, but Mother Superior - the Blue Fairy - was always the person who guided him, even in this new world.

She didn’t recognise him. No one did. But she took him in, wrapped him in a blanket and poured him a hot drink. He would have to leave, she said, as soon as the storm blew out, but for now, he could stay.

He made up some lie - easily now, a bad habit he couldn’t shake - about being lost before the storm hit, and she smiled and nodded and said she understood. He drew her into conversation, and asked about the town, the people, and as deftly as he could, about the new Deputy.

“Ah.” The way her face fell made his gut clench. “Miss French.”

“She seems okay,” he offered.

“Mm.” Mother Superior refilled his mug. “From what I’ve heard, it’s a pity post.” She glanced up at him. “You’ve heard of Mr Gold, I expect. Everyone had.” August nodded, grimacing. “She’s his… well, the word lover hardly seems suitable for a relationship like that.”

“Like… that?”

The Nun’s expression was virtuous but her eyes were hard. “No good can come of that man,” she said flatly. “Until the Sheriff interceded, Miss French was a walking skeleton: half-starved, dressed in rags, and wouldn’t say boo to a goose.”

August looked down into his cup, feeling sick to his stomach. “He doesn’t seem a very good man,” he agreed quietly. If French was affiliated with Gold, that made things complicated, but if Emma had taken her on to keep her out of Gold’s clutches, that was good, wasn’t it?

He turned the mug in his hand. 

He would have to keep a close eye on French and Gold, and make sure they weren’t up to anything together.

 

_______________________________________

 

The apartment was on the verge of flooding.

It wasn’t a big surprise.

The storm had damaged the roof, and Anna had come home to find the floor lined with buckets, while Iain snarled down the phone. The repairs would take days, and it was typical that only a couple of weeks after she took up her post and started earning a salary again, Anna was watching her money disappear into someone else’s pocket.

“It’s almost like we’re cursed to be poor, isn’t it?” she said to Iain, as they rearranged the furniture to save what they could from the leaks.

Iain had looked at her so strangely and laughed, shaking his head. 

They’d managed to stay there for one night, but the dripping kept them awake, even when she tried to muffle it by pressing one ear against Iain’s chest, and held his hand clasped over her other ear.

They both looked like death warmed up in the morning.

“To hell with it,” Iain said grumpily, looking at his stained shirt. “I’ll speak to Lucas. That damned inn of theirs is sitting empty. I’m sure I can persuade her to let us use a room until our ceiling is repaired.”

“When you say persuade,” Anna said, brushing out her hair and wincing as the tangles caught on the brush, “do you mean nicely, with words, or by standing in her doorway and glaring at her until she agrees to anything you say?”

Iain hesitated. “Do you want the right answer or the accurate one?”

Anna shook her head, smothering a rueful smile. “I’ll stay ignorant, this once,” she said, setting aside the brush to braid her hair. She smiled a little wider as he slipped his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck gently. “That kind of mood?”

“I don’t understand how you can stand living here, like this, with me.”

She abandoned her braid and turned in his arms, catching his face between her hands. “I want you to remember the last two words of that sentence,” she said. “That’s how.” The dazed, wondering look that crossed his face sent warmth spreading through her. She leaned closer and kissed him gently on the lips. “Make sure you get us a good room.” A wicked thought crossed her mind. “Possibly next door to number two.”

He drew back, looking at her, his eyebrows rising. “Dare I ask, sweetheart?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “A lesson for a busybody,” she replied, then reluctantly stepped out of his arms. “I’ll meet you there this evening.”

“I don’t have a room yet,” he reminded her, as she finished braiding her hair and twisted an elastic around the end.

“Keyword being ‘yet’,” she said, her eyes dancing. “You will.”

She didn’t look back as she made her way out into the day. 

It was still early, and she headed in the direction of the diner to pick up Emma’s morning coffee. She was about to cross the street, when something caught her eye: two people, in fact, talking heatedly, and then suddenly, not talking anymore at all.

Anna stopped short.

David Nolan, as far as she knew, was still happily settled with his wife.

Mary Margaret Blanchard was a virtuous, innocent little schoolteacher, who was currently kissing him like her life depended on it.

If there was one thing Anna French did not do, it was gossip, but she also didn’t overlook the little things. She’d seen the way Mary Margaret was towards David Nolan, and it wasn’t just some crush. Sometimes, Anna wondered if she looked at Iain like that, but if everyone just ignored it, like they ignored Mary Margaret’s doe-eyes.

She looked away and headed to the diner.

It wasn’t her business who other people chose to love, just as it was no one’s business who she loved.

All the same, the thought was there now, at the back of her mind as she went through paperwork and dealt with all the repercussions of the storm. She could type on autopilot, and all she could think of was Iain, and how he looked at her with such love, and treated her with such affection, and not a single person in town seemed to notice it.

Well, one person would learn about it tonight, if she had her way.

Mr Booth was not exactly covert. She’d seen him watching her, and at first, she had been amused, but as days went by, and he kept showing up where she was, watching where he wasn’t wanted, she was starting to find it annoying. If he had a crush, she intended to make sure that he knew his attentions were entirely unwelcome. If he was worried about her like every other person in town, she would make sure he knew otherwise.

The thought made her blush, and she knew Iain would find it just the kind of game he liked to play, to terrorise and confuse everyone around them. She didn’t know why he liked people to be so wary of him, but sometimes - not often - she liked to indulge him.

“Looks like we’re done here,” Emma said some hours later, slotting a last file back into one of the cabinets. “You heading home?”

Anna rose, trying to keep the grin from her face. “We’re getting a room at Granny’s until the repairs are done,” she said. “Iain said he’d meet me over there.”

Emma’s lips twitched. Ever since Iain had helped her with the Zimmer kids, she seemed to have softened to him, at least a little bit. “Well, I can tell from the look on you face you have a big night planned,” she teased.

Anna felt her cheeks flame and pulled a face. “Nothing like that!” Emma raised her eyebrows sceptically. “Okay, maybe a little bit like that.”

Emma laughed, nodding towards the door. “Don’t stay up too late,” she said. “We have work tomorrow.”

Anna grabbed her coat and bolted for the door, heading towards Granny’s. It was raining lightly, and the lights in the windows were warm and welcoming. She wasn’t surprised when Granny met her at the check-in desk.

“You don’t need to go up there,” she said, looking at Anna solemnly over her glasses. “We have other rooms.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “I want to be in that one,” she said. “Which number?”

Granny sighed. “Number three,” she said. “Offer still stands.”

Anna nodded, but headed up the stairs anyway. One day, she thought, people would see that Iain wouldn’t harm her, and never had. She couldn’t understand why they thought it anymore than people thought Emma was a trouble-maker.

She paused on the landing, reaching behind her back and unhooking the cuffs from her belt.

Her cheeks were already red, she knew it, as she knocked on the door and yelled, “Open up! Deputy!”

Iain opened the door, an astonished look on his face, which turned into a startled, but pleased smile when she pressed into his arms and kissed him.

“What brought this on?” he asked, blinking when she closed a cuff around his wrist.

She looked up at him impishly. “A lesson needs to be learned about what happens when you’re bad,” she said. She kicked the door shut behind her. “And our neighbour needs to know to keep his eyes to himself.” She looked up at him. “Now, do you want your hands behind you or in front?”

There was heat in his eyes, and his breath was coming quicker, and she knew he liked it when she took charge, when she let him relinquish control just for a little while. “Anything you want, love.”

She pressed his hands behind him, and the second cuff clicked closed.

“You have the right,” she whispered against his lips, “to remain silent.” She pushed him back towards the bed. “But I would take it as an insult if you did.”


	6. Chapter 6

Things weren't going to plan.

Regina had a very specific idea of how town was meant to run. Emma Swan was definitely not a part of it, but now, she had a badge and some kind of authority, and she didn't give a damn about how Regina wanted things done. 

So she'd set Sidney a task to undermine Swan's credibility and to get him a foot in the door of the Sheriff's station to keep an eye on her.

It wasn't as easy as they hoped.

If Emma Swan had been on her own, it would have been easy. She would have accepted any allies against Regina with open arms.

But she wasn't alone.

Of all the people to hand the Deputy's badge to, Sidney couldn't understand why Swan had given it to Anna French, especially not after the stunt Gold pulled during the election. No one trusted Gold as far as they could throw him, and everyone knew his woman did what she was told by him and no one else.

She was always there, though, and that was a problem.

Regina's plan was dependent on Emma trusting him, and him leading her down the wrong path.

The plan was shot down in flames when he made the mistake of calling her to a secret rendezvous. It was hard to be secretive when she brought her sidekick with her, especially when the sidekick watched him warily, as if she knew he was up to something. 

He couldn’t count on Emma to believe him, no matter how many hints he dropped, and when he couldn’t see any sign of follow-up, he took matters into his own hands, busting into the Sheriff’s station to see if she was investigating the suspicious transactions he’d brought to her attention. It was empty and he made the foolish assumption that the Deputy was on patrol.

He went through the Sheriff's office with gloves on, leafing through her paperwork, looking into her files. 

There was a folder on Regina, which made him bristle with indignation, but mostly, it was speculative, based on her own experiences of Regina's displays of power in the town. She acknowledged that Regina was definitely a force to be reckoned with. 

He went through folder after folder, searching for anything that might cause problems for the Mayor.

"Found something interesting?"

He yelped, a pile of papers erupting from his hands, pages scattering around him. He swung around to find the Deputy leaning against the doorframe of Emma's office. He didn't know how long she'd been there. There hadn't been any footsteps. She had her arms folded over her chest and was smiling pleasantly.

"Miss French," he stuttered. "I didn't know you were here."

"Obviously," Anna French said. She straightened up. "Do you want to tell me why you were going through Emma's files?"

Sidney swallowed hard. He made a living from coming up with stories for the Mayor, but with Deputy French looking at him, his mind was blank. Regina said she was a gold-digger and nothing more than a trouble-maker, but she'd caught Gold's eye and no one knew why. He didn't seem the kind of man to go for a mouse of a woman, and the gleam in French's eyes was anything but timid.

"I was looking for a notepad," he finally lied lamely. "I wanted to leave her a message."

"And of course, her notepad would be inside her files," French said dryly. 

Sidney flushed, and tried to squeeze through the doorway. Before, he’d at least had the paper as an excuse for being nosy, but now, he had nothing. “I’ll just be on my way, then,” he said. “I’ll come by later.”

French caught his wrist. “I think you’ll be staying,” she said. “You broke into her office. You went through her private files. I think Emma’ll want to be laying charges.”

Sidney felt like the bottom had dropped out of his gut. He shoved the Deputy as hard as he could, knocking her flying into the wall and coat stand, and bolted through the door. He heard her yell after him, and the clatter of her shoes, so he ran.

He knew Storybrooke well enough, and headed for the one place he knew he could hide out without anyone looking for him. Regina always left a spare key under a pot by the door, and he hurried into the garage.

Only once the door was shut behind him and he could breathe again did he pull out his cell and dial with trembling hands.

Regina didn’t sound happy to hear from him at all. She told him to stay where he was and that she’d be right down. He sat down on a crate, shivering in the cool darkness, watching the track of sunlight as it crossed the floor.

She didn’t come, not until it was dark, and when she did, she didn’t look pleased.

“What happened?”

Sidney untucked his hands from beneath his arms. They were cold. “I went to the Sheriff’s office, like you said,” he said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “I tried to have a look through her files. The Deputy was there.”

“French.” Regina hissed the name. “That little trollop wasn’t meant to be in the picture.”

Sidney nodded. Everyone knew that. Most people figured that Emma was trying to keep the French girl away from her sadistic boyfriend. “She saw me,” he said, getting up from the crate. His legs ached. “She wanted to arrest me.”

Regina rubbed her brow. “You let her catch you?”

“I thought she was on patrol!” Sidney protested. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten and the booze was sitting hot in his stomach. “I thought Gold was meant to have her under control. How come she’s out there, getting in the way?”

“How indeed,” Regina said darkly. “She was meant to be his little housekeeper, nothing more, just as she always was.”

“What changed?” Sidney asked, rubbing his hands together.

Regina’s expression tensed. “What do you think?” she said. “Dear Miss Swan came sweeping in to try and save the damsel from the beast.”

“The Sheriff’s not going to trust me now,” Sidney said sullenly.

“Oh, you really think so?” The Mayor was pacing in tight circles. “If French is there, getting in our way, Swan’ll do exactly what she wants.” She propped her hands on her hips, a pensive look on her face. “French needs to be… otherwise engaged.”

“You think Gold can control her?” Sidney asked.

Regina looked at him so sharply that he took a step back. “My, my, Sidney,” she murmured, a smile curving her lips. “Two birds with one stone. I need some answers from Gold, and this may just be the way to get them.”

 

____________________________________________

 

“Hey, Henry.”

Henry looked up at the Deputy. He liked spending time at the Sheriff’s station, even when Emma wasn’t there. Miss French was the Deputy now, and she liked stories. She even liked guessing who the people were in his book. She never said it was make-believe, even if that was what she thought.

It was better to stay there too, since his castle was gone.

His mom was building a new one.

He’d found out about it at the City meeting, when he doodling in his book.

His mom said he had to be there, instead of staying home alone. Emma showed up too because she’d found some paperwork on her desk, something someone had left there, and she wanted to make sure nothing bad was going on. 

They’d smiled at each other, but Henry could tell that neither of them really meant it.

Emma thought his mom was up to something, and his mom just didn’t like Emma.

“Hi,” he said, looking back down at his drawing.

Miss French took off her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair at her own desk, and approached him. “What are you working on?”

“Trying to remember all the stories,” he replied.

When his castle had been torn down, he’d searched in the ruins for his book, but it was gone, and now, all he had left were the memories of all the stories. He couldn’t draw as well as the person who made the book, but he could remember, and he was trying his best to get everything down before he forgot.

Miss French looked at the drawings. 

“Here,” she said, “give me a pen.”

He shoved a pen and notebook towards her, but kept working on his drawings.

A few minutes later, she tapped the top of his head. “Try this,” she said.

He looked at the page of the book. She’d divided it into four columns, and at the top of each column, there was a character’s name. 

“Wouldn’t it be easier writing down the whole story?”

Miss French shook her head. “If you spend all your time on one story, the more you’ll forget about the others,” she said. “Try and write as many single things about each character as you can, and each of those things will be another reminder of what happened. Like Snow White.” She wrote down some words.

“Apple,” Henry read. “Dwarves. Cottage. Evil Queen.” He looked up. “Bandit.”

“Huntsman?” Miss French suggested.

Henry nodded, putting down his pencil. “So we do this for all of them?”

Anna French smiled. “Keywords,” she said. “Things that will make you remember different parts of the story.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Never underestimate how important the little things are.”

He took the notebook from her and set to work on the lists, while she returned to her desk and started sorting through the paperwork. There wasn’t much to do in Storybrooke, but he knew that Emma wanted everything on a database, so Miss French was trying to do that for her, when there was no crime.

He had filled up pages by the time Deputy French switched off the computer.

“Do you want to wait here for Emma?” she asked, putting her coat back on again. “She’s not come back from her last call out.”

Henry looked up. “She said it sounded like something simple and to wait here until you left,” he said. “Then I have to go to the diner.”

Miss French smiled. “I’ll walk you over,” she said. “I’m meeting Iain there.”

Henry paused, packing his stuff up. “You mean Mr Gold?”

She laughed. “I do,” she said. “It’s Valentine’s day. He’s taking me out for dinner.”

Henry shoved the last notebook into his rucksack. He knew that a lot of people thought Mr Gold was scary, but Deputy French was nice, and he didn’t think someone so nice would be with someone who was really bad. “You really like him, huh?”

“I do indeed,” she agreed with a small smile. “He might seem harsh, sometimes, but he’s a good man underneath it all.”

Henry shucked his rucksack onto his back. “He must be in my book somewhere,” he said, “and you too.” He waited as she locked up the office. “Who do you think he is?”

Deputy French laughed. “Someone grumpy,” she said. “Maybe the dwarf?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “You know that’s Leroy,” he said.

Miss French looked down at him. She didn’t have far too look. She was one of the smallest ladies Henry knew. “So who do you think he is, smart guy?” she asked, as they headed towards the door. 

“I’m still working on it,” Henry replied, pushing the door open for them. “I think…”

“Anna?”

Deputy French stopped short, and Henry turned around to see a big man in a plaid shirt and a cap. He didn’t know who he was, but Miss French did. “Dad?” She sounded shocked. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t an old man come by and see his daughter?” Mr French said. He glanced at Henry, who looked between them. 

Deputy French nodded. “Run along to the diner, Henry,” she said. “If Mr Gold is there already, tell him I’ll be along soon.”

“Anna…” Her dad said, and Henry saw the way her shoulders went tight. She didn’t look serious often, Miss French, but now she did. Serious and unhappy. He ran down the steps, but he didn’t go to the diner. He hid just around the corner, and he could hear them talking.

“What do you want this time, dad?”

“Sweetheart, you know you don’t have to stay with that son of a bitch.”

Miss French snorted. “You think I would stay if he was everything you think he is?” she said, her voice calm and steady. “I stay with him because I want to, dad. I choose what I do with my life. Not you.”

“I only want what’s best for you!”

“What’s best?” She was starting to sound angry. “I’m with a man I love, a man who loves me and respects me for the choices I make and the things I do. And you think you have the right to tell me I shouldn’t want that?”

“He’s a nasty piece of work, Anna!” There was the sound of a scuffle and Henry peeked around the side of the building. Mr French had grabbed Miss French by the arm. “I only want you to be safe!”

“Get off me!” 

“Anna! He’ll hurt you!”

The Deputy shoved her hands against her father’s chest. “The only person who’s hurting me now is you!” she exclaimed. “Now, let me go!”

Henry didn’t see how it happened, but all of a sudden, Deputy French was falling back. She was standing at the top of the three steps, and Henry yelled, running forward, but he wasn’t close enough, and her father’s outstretched hand couldn’t catch her.

She hit the ground and hit it hard.

Henry stopped dead, shaking, staring down at her. There was blood coming from under her hair, blood on the sidewalk. Her eyes were open, then fluttered and closed.

“Miss French?” he said, his voice trembling. “Miss French, are you okay?”

She wasn’t moving. 

 

_________________________________________________

 

There was a fight in the waiting room when Emma raced into the hospital.

Some middle-aged guy was on the ground and Mr Gold was doing his best to beat the hell out of him with his cane.

Emma grabbed Gold by the arms, hauling him backwards.

“Get off me!” Gold bellowed, jerking and lashing like a man possessed. 

“Not if you’re going to attack him again!” Emma snarled in his ear. For all that Gold was getting on in age, he was coiled tight as a spring and she had a feeling he wasn’t about to let up just because a Sheriff was standing by. She held onto him as tight as she could. “This isn’t what she would have wanted.”

“You think that matters now?” Gold’s chest was heaving with ragged, uncontrolled breaths. “He’s the one that put her in here.”

French was being helped up into a chair by one of the nurses. “It was an accident,” he mumbled, listing a hand to his bloody brow. The blood wasn’t his, as far as Emma could see, but it was all over his hands.

Anna’s.

“Accident!” Gold lunged forward again, but Emma had felt the tension rise, and jerked him back just as hard. He struggled against her, baring his teeth at French, all the icy restraint that he was known for gone completely. “You never wanted her with me. Maybe you just wanted her dead more than happy!”

“How dare you!” French stood up angrily. 

“This isn’t helping!” Emma snapped, dragging Gold back one step, then another. She threw her whole body weight into it and forced him around, closer to the nurse’s station. She put her hand to her gun. “I’m armed, okay? You want to make things worse, go ahead, but the first one of you who lays a hand on the other is going to cool off in a cell. Do you understand me?”

French nodded, and she looked at Gold. He wasn’t leaning on his cane. He was holding it like a club. He looked like a feral animal, his hair all over his face, his teeth bared, and something dangerous and dark in his eyes. 

“Gold,” she said, taking a step towards him. “You understand?”

He drew a breath between his teeth. “Perfectly.”

Emma kept her hand on her weapon. “Now, someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I went to see my daughter,” French said. He sounded shaken, and looked worse. He was going to have some bruises in the morning, and he was pale, almost grey. “We were talking and she fell on the steps.”

“They were fighting.”

Emma spun around at Henry’s voice. “Henry?”

He was sitting in the corner of the waiting room, his knees hugged tightly to his chest. He looked up at her, and she forgot all about Gold and French. “I-I was just talking to her, and Mr French came to speak to her. She didn’t look happy, so I waited around the corner for her. We were going to walk to the diner.” He looked at her tearfully. “I heard them yelling. Miss French told Mr French to let go of her, and I think she fell.” He was crying and Emma never knew what to do when he cried, so she just hugged him close to her, as tight as she could. “She wasn’t moving. There was all blood and she wasn’t moving.” 

“She’s in hospital now, Henry,” she said, stroking his hair. “She’ll be okay.”

He drew back to look at her. “Really?”

She wanted to lie, to say head trauma wasn’t as bad as all that, but she’d seen the bloodstain outside her office, and knew it had to be a major injury.

“Doctor Whale’ll do what he can.”

“He’d better,” Gold breathed. He was too calm, too quiet, for a man who had just been told that his lover hadn’t fallen but may well have been pushed by the man standing not a dozen paces from him.

Emma cradled the back of Henry’s head. “Close your eyes,” she whispered, before leaping up and turning in time to see Gold bringing down his cane in a merciless arc towards French’s unprotected skull. She threw herself across the floor in four steps, and tackled Gold to the ground before the cane could impact.

“You heard me, Gold,” she said, her voice low and furious. “I know that’s your girl in there, but I warned you.”

“You heard your boy,” Gold hissed, struggling against her. “He pushed her. He did this! You should be arresting him!”

She grabbed Gold’s wrist, locking one of the cuffs around it. 

“In due course,” she replied, her voice clipped and tight. “But you’re the one who has been attacking defenceless men, and you were warned.” She dragged him back to his feet, ignoring the murderous look he had fixed on French. She cuffed his other wrist behind his back, and held him by the shoulder. He was still tense as a wire, and she spoke softly, for his ears alone. “Gold, listen to me. I need you calm. I need you thinking straight. Anna’s going to need you, when she comes through this.”

Gold nodded tersely, his shoulders heaving. “Keep him the hell away from her,” he whispered hoarsely. “Cage me. Lock me away. Do what you please to me, but keep him away from her.”

Emma nodded. “I have to put you in a cell, okay? But I’ll bring you back as soon as she’s out of surgery, and I’ll keep you in the loop.”

She held his right arm to steady him, as she led him towards the door. “You want a ride home, kid?” she called to Henry. “I think you need to be at home tonight, okay?” Henry nodded, scooping up his backpack from the floor.

Before they left, Emma stopped at the nurses’ station and told them to keep French out of the ward, once Anna was brought out of surgery.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Gold said quietly.

Emma didn’t look at him. “She’s my Deputy,” she said. “I watch out for her.”

“Nevertheless,” Gold murmured. “It won’t be forgotten.”

 

_____________________________________________

 

It felt almost like an echo.

Not for the first time, Rumpelstiltskin was behind bars, and Regina had all the knowledge and power.

She stood in the doorway of the Sheriff’s station. 

Mr Gold was sitting on the bunk in the right-hand cell, his back against the wall, so still he might have been carved from stone. His tie was loosened, and there were dark stains on the cuffs of his sleeves and spatters on his shirt.

He didn’t open his eyes or even turn to look in her direction.

“I’m afraid I’m a little occupied at the moment,” he murmured. 

He sounded completely calm, but she knew him well enough to see the tightness around his closed eyes, the way his hands were curled into fists in his lap. In both worlds, the man had a temper, and putting him in a cage was one way to make matters worse.

“It’s not like you to get caught, Gold.”

His eyes opened, but only a crack, and he turned his head just enough to look at her. The corners of his mouth turned up, but it wasn’t a smile. “It’s not often that my little woman is knocked about by her father, either.”

“Yes, I heard,” Regina murmured. “Shame. And on Valentine’s day too.” She shook her head solemnly. “That must have ruined your plans.”

“So it would seem,” he murmured. He sat up, leaning forward, and resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m sure you haven’t come here with a job, given my current state.” The same, thin-lipped twist of an expression crossed his face. “Miss Swan wasn’t forthcoming with the specifics of the duration of my confinement.”

Regina approached the cell, making a show of examining the bars, then looked back at him with a small smile. “I’ve been meaning to have a private talk with you for some time, Gold, about your girl’s interference in my affairs.”

Gold frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She… gets in the way,” Regina said. “Trails around after Emma Swan like a lost pet. She’s been causing problems.”

Gold surged up from the bed, his hands wrapping around the bars as if they were her throat. “My lover might be dying and you think now is the fucking time to bring up her career choices?”

Regina stared at him. “Dying? I think that’s something of an exaggeration, don’t you?”

His dark eyes narrowed to slashes. “How did you know she was hurt?” he asked.

Regina shrugged one shoulder, folding her arms over her chest. “Someone mentioned something in the diner.”

“You’re lying,” he said, quietly, calmly, his eyes fixed on her face. “Anyone who told you would have told you she was in surgery. That it’s touch and go. Her father seemed to think it was a good idea to come and speak to her.”

Regina almost backed up a step at the fury in his eyes. Not that she particularly cared whether the girl died or not, but without her presence to pacify Rumpelstiltskin, it was like unleashing a rabid dog. French was only meant to put the fear into her, but this… this was something much more useful.

“That’s unfortunate,” she said blandly. 

“Unfortunate. Yes.” He was watching her grimly. “And convenient, when she’s been getting in your way so much.”

She looked back at him. “Is it just her, I wonder,” she said. “Or are you playing some kind of little game here, Gold?”

He bared his teeth. “I don’t give a damn about your paranoia, Madame Mayor,” he snarled.

“You should,” Regina replied. “Tell me, Gold, does your girl have medical insurance?”

Without the bars, he might have flown at her, but instead, enclosed as he was, he shrank back down to sit on the bunk. “What do you want?” he asked quietly. His voice was subdued, but she knew the rage was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

“Simple,” Regina replied, keeping at a distance. “I want you to answer one question: what is your name?”

He looked back at her, the muscle in his cheek twitching. “It’s Iain Gold.”

Regina narrowed her eyes. “Your real name.”

His mouth turned up again, slow and snake-like. “Every moment I’ve been on this earth, that’s been my name.”

She shook her head, smiling back at him. “What about moments spent elsewhere?” she asked, watching his features crease in a show of confusion. “No more games, Gold. You tell me what I want to know and I make sure that little strumpet of yours is well looked after.”

He blinked slowly, so still and collected, and rolled his head on his neck. “Rumpelstiltskin.”

She forced herself not to shy back. He had promised that until the curse broke, he would be hers. The curse was broken for him. He was who he had been. He owed her no allegiance and the only remaining chain she held of his was the girl. 

“I think,” she murmured, “that we need to renegotiate terms.”

His teeth were bared, his eyes were blazing, and he rose, gripping the bars as if he could tear them apart. “What makes you think I want to make any more deals with you, dearie?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?” she replied coolly. “You can’t stand guard over your little lamb twenty-four seven, and it’s much simpler to do as your told to keep her safe. Or do you plan on fighting me?”

His knuckles were white and she could see the ugly rage, unmasked for the first time in nearly three decades. She had seen the expression before: shock and fury and grief. Back then, he believed his lover was dead. Now… well, it depended on his good behaviour. 

“What are the terms?” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

“If I need something done,” she replied. “You will do it. You will ensure that Miss French keeps her nose out of my business. You will not aid Miss Swan in any way, or guide Miss French in a way that might help her.”

“And as long as I comply, you will leave Belle - Miss French - alone and unharmed,” he said, rather than asked. There was something feral in his eyes. “If anything happens to her, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Regina chuckled. “When have you ever been?” she said. “She’ll be under my protection, as long as you do what you’re told.”

He released a ragged breath through his nose and nodded. “Agreed. Belle - Anna - is safe, in return for my obedience.”

Regina smiled. “Good.”

 

_________________________________________

 

Rumpelstiltskin felt like he had been hollowed out as he unlocked the door of the apartment. Emma Swan fetched him from the jail and offered to drive him home to clean up, since Belle - Anna French - was still unconscious.

He’d agreed, knowing it would likely be some time before he went home again.

The surgery went well, so the Sheriff told him. Whale was hopeful of a full recovery, but she had to wake naturally from the anaesthetic. 

He asked the Sheriff to wait in the car, unwilling to let him see the depths of poverty that he and his lover lived in. Belle deserved better. She always had. And yet, they were happy here, in this small, humble little house. It was what he had wanted so long ago, for him and Milah, before everything went wrong.

They could be happy with little. 

He could have been then.

No. Not as much then.

Then, he still had the stigma of cowardice, but now, they were happy. 

He shed his bloodied shirt and scrubbed at his hands and arms until they were clean of her blood. It was a sight he wouldn’t - couldn’t - ever forget: her blood on his hands. Henry had run to the diner to fetch him, and he had cradled her in his arms, so afraid she was gone.

Her father was only lucky that he didn’t find out then what had happened. 

It wasn’t until they were in the hospital.

He looked up at his reflection in the damp-warped mirror. There were speckles between the glass that no amount of cleaning would remove, and for a moment, he could almost see his cursed features, flickering and scaled and familiar and monstrous.

A rap at the door drew him back to the present.

“Gold? You okay?”

“Two minutes,” he called back, towelling his face dry roughly.

He pulled on a fresh shirt and tie, then scrubbed at the stains on his suit. It would need to be dry-cleaned, but it could wait. He packed a few of Anna’s favourite possessions into a paper bag and returned to the car.

If the Sheriff spoke to him, he didn’t notice. 

He sat in silence until they reached the hospital, and followed her through the corridors to the private room that was assigned to Anna. Her name was on the door, and her father was lurking in the corridors, but Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t care less about him now.

Whale was waiting for them. 

Emma must have called ahead.

The room was quiet, and Anna was linked up to monitors which were keeping track of her heartbeat and breathing. Her head was wrapped up in bandages, and there was an oxygen line into her nose.

“It’s not as bad as it first appeared,” Whale said quietly. “It was a compound depressed fracture, probably caused by the impact with the edge of the sidewalk. We were able to decrease the pressure on the brain, and the swelling is already going down. She could wake up at any time.”

“Will there be long-term damage?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, unable to tear his eyes from the woman on the bed. She looked even slighter than usual, paler than pale. 

“It’s too soon to say,” Whale replied, “but we’ve done all that we can, so the rest is up to her body.” He glanced at Anna. “People have lived quite happily for years after chipping their skull.”

Rumpelstiltskin wanted to laugh and weep. “I want to sit with her.”

“As long as you don’t touch any of the equipment, you can stay as long as you like,” Whale replied. 

“We’ll talk outside,” Swan said, jerking her head. Whale followed her out the door, leaving Rumpelstiltskin alone in the room, silent but for the steady, quiet beep of the machines and the soft whisper of Anna’s breath.

Rumpelstiltskin set the bag down by her feet, and drew one of the chairs closer to the bed, his eyes on her face. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said softly, slipping his hand under hers to hold her fingers gently. “Sorry I’m late.”

He searched her features for any sign of wakefulness, but she was still as a statue.

He pulled the chair a little closer, propping his arms on the edge of the bed, and spoke quietly to her. It would help, he remembered. 

They always said it did, that hearing was the first thing to return. It had worked for Snow White and her Prince, so why not for a true sleeping beauty? Perhaps she hadn’t pricked her finger or eaten and apple, but she was still sleeping nonetheless.

The Sheriff came back in briefly, to ask if he needed anything, but he waved her away. A nurse brought him food some time later. He could eat any time. Now, he had to watch over Belle, wait for her to come back to him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. “I wanted you to have a special evening. Not this.” He lifted her fingertips up and kissed each one softly, as if it would help. He hesitated, then lifted his other hand to gently brush her brow with his thumb. “When things are as they should be,” he vowed, “I’ll show you all of the world, and take you on all the adventures you never had.” He leaned closed and brushed his lips against hers, barely a breath of contact. “I love you.”

Her lashes fluttered.

“Belle?” he breathed before he could stop himself.

Her eyelids flickered weakly open. Even the blue of her eyes seemed faded. “Rumpel?” she whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

Gold was a puzzle.

Everyone knew the man was an unfeeling bastard who didn't care about anyone.

That didn't, however, match up with the unshaven, drawn man who sat by his lover's bedside day after day. He didn't leave her side, not even when she was sleeping, and according to the nurses, he hardly slept himself. There was a bed set up in the corner of the room, but if he slept, he did it in the seat, his head propped on his folded arms on Anna French’s bed.

Once, maybe twice, he was seen on a cell phone, his expression grim, but it seemed like all other business had been put to one side while his lover was in hospital. 

Doctor Whale looked in on them from time to time.

The surgery had gone well, and Miss French's head trauma was healing nicely, but he insisted she needed careful observation for several days. More often than not, she slept, her body shutting down all other functions to give her time to heal.

Gold sat by her side, turning warily any time anyone entered the room. He was looking more and more haggard, even though Anna was recovering well. He ate, when food was left for him, but only when his woman was sleeping. In the brief periods when she was awake, all his attention remained on her.

By the fourth day, she had progressed impressively.

Whale entered the private room with her file in his hand. 

Miss French was sitting upright in the bed, propped against the pillows. She was still pale, and looked smaller and frailer than she had with the bandages wound around her head. Gold apparently had been talking softly to her, and only when she looked up from him to Whale did he bother to turn.

"Doctor," he said. His expression indicated that Whale's interruption was far from welcome, but as terrifying a figure as Gold presented, Whale knew the hospital was his territory and no man had authority over him there.

"How are you feeling today, Miss French?" Whale asked, focussing his attention on his patient.

She smiled, and as drawn as the expression was, it was warm and genuine. "Much better," she said. "It still hurts, but I think having a hole in the head will do that."

Whale couldn't help chuckling. "You have a gift for the understatement," he agreed, ignoring the dark look Gold was directing at him. He circled to the far side of the bed and checked the monitors. "You're making good progress. I think it's safe to say you could be home within the week."

Anna looked delighted, reaching out to grasp Gold's hand. Whale dared a glance, and saw the way the man's features softened when he looked at her. "I'd like that," she said. "To be home."

"I'll get it tidied up, so you don't have to lift a finger," Gold promised. He hardly even seemed to notice that Whale was there when his lover's attention was focussed on him. He lifted her thin hand and kissed it gently, avoiding the IV line. "All the books you like will be waiting for you."

Anna smiled, curling her finger to brush along his chin. "Don't need to spoil me."

"Now, you're being ridiculous," he said tartly. "Of course I do." He kissed her hand again and released it gently. "I'll just have a word with Doctor Whale outside, to check what you might need and what I shouldn't surprise you with."

Miss French rolled her eyes fondly. "Don't get too excited," she said, as Gold got up from his chair. "I don't need a choir or decorations or anything like that."

"Nothing quite so gaudy," Gold agreed, nodding towards the door.

Whale made his way out of the room and Gold followed, leaning on his cane, and closed the door behind him. The affectionate, courteous man was gone, and Gold looked as cold and hard as he ever did. "She's going to need to rest a lot," Whale said without preamble.

"Of course," Gold acknowledged. "Medication too, I have no doubt."

"Painkillers will be necessary," the doctor agreed. "I'll draw up a prescription for her. She'll need to come in for regular check-ups and you'll need to keep a close eye on her progress. With head trauma, you need to watch for any symptoms that might point to complications. Blurred vision. Worsening headaches. Memory lapses."

There was something closed about Gold's expression. "Memory lapses?"

"It could be caused by pressure on the brain, which could be caused by bleeding or clotting."

Gold looked down at his hands, folded on top of the handle of his cane. One finger was tapping erratically at the back of his palm. His brow was furrowed, as if trying to come to a difficult decision, and finally, he looked back up at Whale. "There have been moments," he said slowly, "where she talks about times and places she can't possibly remember, from years ago."

"Can't...?" Whale said. 

"Let's say she was very young, then," Gold replied, his eyes boring into Whale's, daring him to challenge it. "She remembers names, faces, then just as promptly, forgets them."

Whale frowned. "We should probably run some tests before we release her," he said. "You should have mentioned this sooner."

Gold's features were unreadable. "I didn't realise it was a sign of something being wrong," he said, though there was a tremor in his voice that suggested that he wished he had known. For a moment, the façade dropped, and for a moment, he was just a worried, middle-aged man who just wanted his lover to be well. "She will be all right, won't she?"

Whale clasped his shoulder. "We'll do everything we can to ensure it."

 

 

_____________________________________________________

 

Regina was annoyed.

No. More than that. She was furious.

Snow White and her precious Prince had found one another, yet again, and Regina knew that something was going on between them. Sidney had been following them for days, in penance for the fact he had made a mess of getting a foot in the door of the Sheriff’s station.

It was true that Emma Swan had lost her guard dog when Anna French fell, but the ongoing and torrid affair of David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard was getting under her skin. She spread the photographs out on her desk, looking at them again.

A sensible person wouldn’t have looked at them so often, but she found the anger helped. 

Their coy looks and smiles, their furtive kisses, their trysts down by the Toll Bridge. 

She wedged the photographs back into the envelope, breathing hard. She didn’t know what bothered her more: the fact that even while completely unhappy, they could be intimate with someone they desired or the fact that they could find each other in a way she could never hope to find someone again.

Something had to be done.

She picked up her cellphone, dialling Gold’s number.

He picked up immediately, as he knew he had to, if he wanted his little harlot safe.

“Gold.”

“We need to talk,” Regina said coolly. “Come to my office this afternoon. One hour.”

She hung up before he could speak or protest, and set down her phone on the desk. Her eyes drifted to the envelope again. It would be a simple thing to make sure it reached Kathryn: a grenade thrown into the tranquil pool where they were all swimming. Some might end up in pieces, but that was always the cost when it came to affairs.

She put the envelope into her desk.

If need be, she could use them, but they were trivial, not enough to do any real damage.

Gold was the one who would provide a solution. His clever, twisted little mind would find a way to turn Snow and her Prince away from one another. 

Regina rose from her desk and went to the decanter, pouring herself a glass. 

The simple solution to the whole matter would be to tell Kathryn, and watch her fight to keep the man she was meant to love. The trouble was, though, that while Regina could drag the memories in a certain direction, she couldn’t put in emotions that weren’t there. Kathryn - Princess Abigail - was fond of the Prince, but fondness wasn’t a guarantee that she would fight for him.

Regina let the tartness of the cider linger on her tongue as she closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. It would be so much easier to kill them, but people were waking up, and people would notice, and she wanted to see Snow break. Snow White, pure and virtuous and good, but now, she was the mistress, the cheating woman, the liar and deceiver. People would condemn her, just like they always condemned Regina.

She set the glass down and sank back into her seat.

It should have been enough, but the photographs, seeing them together, burned like acid in her gut.

Gold arrived exactly one hour later.

He looked a mess, and that at least drew a smile to her lips. He hadn’t even shaved, and the shirt he was wearing looked like it had been worn for days. 

“Don’t you look respectable?” she said, motioning for him to sit.

“I’ve been distracted,” he said coolly, remaining standing where he was, resting his hands on the handle of his cane. “What can I do for you, Regina?”

She leaned back in her chair, looking up at him. “I need Snow White ruined,” she said abruptly. “She and her Prince have been dallying. I want it to end. I want them apart. And I want it to hurt them both.”

“So take a pistol and shoot one of them,” Gold said with a prosaic shrug. “It’s not difficult. You point and pull the trigger. Like magic, only with very little cost.”

Regina scowled at him. “You know that’s not what I want. I want to see her broken.”

Gold was leaning heavily on his cane, as if he was exhausted, and finally, he approached and sat down on the seat opposite her. “You want her to suffer?” he murmured. Regina nodded, and he looked pensively at his cane. “What if…” He looked back up at her. “I could arrange for something tragic to happen to Mrs Nolan. If Miss Blanchard was blamed…”

Regina’s heart leapt. “She would be disgraced,” she breathed. “David would hate her.”

“And you would have every reason to see her driven out of Storybrooke.” Gold’s dark eyes held hers. “I can see to it that Miss Blanchard suffers well enough. Fear and recriminations and guilt. All you need to do is make sure that her affair with David is common knowledge.”

Regina thought of the envelope in her drawer and smiled. “That won’t be a problem.”

 

____________________________________________________

 

Kathryn’s head hurt.

That was the first thing she noticed.

She remembered packing her bags and getting ready to leave Storybrooke. Boston. She was going to Boston, to start law school. She remembered driving out of town, feeling as if a great weight was falling away from her. Then…

Then what?

The tyres. The tyres had skidded on the wet road or something. She remembered holding the steering wheel as tightly as she could, trying to control the spin. She remembered hitting the sign, and then, pain in her head and blackness. 

The blackness was receding now, little by little.

She was lying down, but it didn’t feel like a bed, and she tried to lift her hand to touch her aching head. Her hand wouldn’t move. That made her eyes fly open, and she immediately regretted it, the light bright enough to make her gasp aloud.

Sunlight was slanting in through half-closed curtains, and she stared around wildly. A cabin, some cabin in the woods. She didn’t recognise it. It didn’t look like it had been used for a long time, dusty and dank.

She struggled to sit up and whimpered. Her hands and feet were both bound.

“Please don’t fight.”

She jerked her head around so fast that white spots blotted her vision and she hissed with pain. When her vision cleared, she saw a man standing in the doorway that led to another room, and she recognised him: Mr Gold. He looked like hell.

She drew a steadying breath. Mr Gold. She knew him from around town. Everyone was afraid of him, but no one could give one reason as to why. One of the rumours was that he worked for the person who owned all of Storybrooke, and was their weapon.

He was standing at a distance, passive, harmless, letting her get her bearings. She was fully-dressed. Her head was bound in a bandage. Not the actions of an abductor, as much as the cords around her arms and legs might indicate. 

There was something going on here, something that was more than just a dangerous man taking a wounded woman prisoner.

“What do you want from me?” she asked finally.

He sat down on a chair closer to the door than to her. “I need your help.”

She stared at him, then looked down at her bound wrists. “I was going to say the same thing,” she said tartly. “You want to explain why I’m tied up? Or in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and not in a hospital?”

Gold passed a hand over his face. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days. “You know the rumours about me, Mrs Nolan,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “When they say there is a puppet master, they’re not exaggerating as much as they might think.”

Kathryn closed her eyes for a moment. “So what does this puppet master want from me?”

Gold was silent for a moment. “You are currently considered an obstacle,” he said. “You haven’t done what you were meant to, regarding your husband.”

Kathryn opened her eyes to look across at him. “What I was meant to?” she echoed.

“Most women wouldn’t just smile and say they wished their cheating husband’s all the best with their mistresses,” he murmured.

She felt like her stomach was turning on itself. 

The last few days were a mess of emotions, from the discovery of her husband’s affair and the identity of his mistress, to the realisation that not only did her husband want to be with someone else, but that he loved the other woman in a way he had never loved her. 

Kathryn knew she and her husband hadn’t been close for a long time, and letting him go with grace and affection seemed kinder than making them both suffer the indignities of a messy and bitter break-up.

No one else knew. No one else needed to know.

She knew for a fact that she had only told two people about her decision: one of them was her husband, to whom she had written a letter, wishing him every happiness; the other was the only person in town with more power than Mr Gold, a person Kathryn had believed to be a friend and trusted confidante. 

“Who told you that?” she asked quietly, hoping the tremor in her voice didn’t betray her.

He was watching her, his expression unreadable. “You know the answer to that.”

“And she considers me an… obstacle?” Kathryn said quietly. 

“Not only you,” he replied. “You heard about the Deputy?”

His lover. The quiet, timid little woman that everyone believed was under his thumb, until suddenly she was wearing a badge and a smile, and seemed like an entirely different person. She was in hospital, Kathryn remembered. Some accident or other a week or two before. 

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” she said quietly. “That the Mayor is taking out people who she thinks are in her way?”

Gold closed his eyes, drawing unsteady breaths. “Mrs Nolan, I’ve been told to get rid of you in no uncertain terms,” he said, finally, and opened his eyes to look at her. “I have no choice in doing what I have been asked. If it comes down to you or Miss French, you wouldn’t even get a second thought. But I am giving you a choice now. You’re a sensible woman. The question is this: do you want to get out of this alive?”

“You could promise me that?”

Gold nodded. “You have my word,” he said. “I know that counts for little, but I have no desire to kill you, and I know you have no desire to die.”

Kathryn studied him. He looked older than she’d ever noticed before, drawn and haggard and very human. “You must love her a lot,” she said quietly, “Miss French.”

“I love her enough to keep you alive,” he said simply. “She would never forgive me if I harmed you.”

“She doesn’t even know me,” Kathryn murmured.

One side of Gold’s mouth turned up. “She doesn’t have to,” he said.

Kathryn looked at him, a tired, beaten-down man who was doing what he had to, to protect the woman he loved, if he was to be believed. She didn’t see any trace of the terrible man who terrified everyone in town.

“Very well,” she said. “What do I need to do?”

 

___________________________________________

 

Leroy didn’t usually care what anyone thought, but for the first time in his life, he wanted to do something good for someone else. 

Sister Astrid had smiled at him, and somewhere in his old and crusty heart, he felt like she deserved something. She was sweet and she was kind, and even if she was a Nun, she had a smile that could light up the town.

That was why he was hauling ass around town with the local tramp and a box of candles.

“This is getting nowhere.”

“Well it ain’t, if you got that attitude,” Leroy said, stomping up the steps to the next door.

Mary Margaret sighed and hurried up after him. “Leroy, we’ve done almost every house and not a one of them wants to buy a candle!”

“As long as there’s a door,” Leroy said stubbornly, “I’m going to knock.”

He emphasised his point by pounding on the door in front of him. They were in the poorer part of town, where people lived in small, one room apartments instead of houses or even a trailer like he lived in. It was scraping the barrel. If people were so poor they lived here, then there wasn’t much chance of them being willing to spend any money on Nun candles.

Still, he had to try.

He heard movement inside and put on his best, helpful smile. Mary Margaret nudged him.

“Stop that!”

He glanced sideways at her. “What?” 

“You want to scare them?”

Leroy snorted. “I don’t complain about your face, sister.”

They still both smiled - a little too brightly - when the door opened.

Leroy’s face fell immediately.

The woman standing there was Deputy French, wrapped up in a bathrobe, bandages around her head. She was swaying on her feet, and she looked like hell. She blinked at them owlishly, and braced one hand against the doorframe.

“Can I help you?”

“We shouldn’t have disturbed you,” Mary Margaret said, staring at her. “Are you o…”

Leroy dropped the box of candles to catch French as her legs went out from under her. She grasped at his shoulders, staring at him. 

“Dreamy?” she whispered, her pupils wide and black.

Leroy grunted, hoisting her up in his arms. She was light as a feather. “First time anyone ever called me that, sister,” he said. He shoved the door wide open with his foot and stepped into the apartment that had to be Gold’s.

He didn’t get more than a step in when he stopped, shocked.

Everyone knew Gold was a hardass, who took money from everyone in town. Didn’t seem like many people knew he lived in the smallest apartment that Leroy had ever seen. 

“Quick,” Mary Margaret said, hurrying over to the unfolded sofa bed. “Put her down here.”

Leroy nodded, carrying French over and gently laying her down. She winced, putting her hand to her head. “You need us to get you some medicine or something?” he asked, as Mary Margaret pulled the covers back over him.

She squinted up at him, frowning. “What are you doing here?” she asked, bewildered. 

“We were just selling candles for miner’s day,” he said dismissively. “Didn’t mean to get you out of bed.”

Mary Margaret hurried over to the small kitchen, filling the kettle. “I’ll get you a drink while I’m here,” she said.

Anna French closed her eyes, rubbing her head. “That’s very kind of you,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m not in any state to entertain just now.”

“Brain surgery’ll do that.” Leroy sat on the arm of the sofa bed. “So, this is your place, huh? I thought Gold’d live somewhere…” He trailed off, trying to find a word that didn’t sound like he was calling her home a hole. 

“Bigger?” French opened one eye. One side of her mouth turned up. “We’re small people. We don’t need much space.”

Leroy glanced around. “As long as you don’t wanna join the competition for cat-swinging, I think you’re good,” he said dryly. 

French laughed quietly, leaning back against the pillows. “You said you were selling candles?” she murmured. “Is it for the Nuns?”

Leroy nodded. “They need it to make rent this month.” He didn’t want to tell her that the reason they needed it so bad was because of her boyfriend. “You don’t need to worry about it, sister. We’ve been selling plenty.”

“Is that why they’re littering my step?”

From the sound of it, Mary Margaret dropped the tea kettle in the sink.

Leroy glanced over at the door, where Mr Gold was standing, leaning on his cane. He was watching them both as if they were dangerous, and given how pale French was looking, Leroy knew it looked like they’d done some damage.

French opened her eyes with a small smile. It was slight and it was tired, but it reached her eyes and lit up her whole face. “You’re home early,” she murmured, holding out a hand to him.

It was like they were suddenly invisible, Leroy thought, as Gold crossed the floor to sit down on the edge of the bed, and take her hand in his. Gold’s fingers tangled through hers, and he ran his thumb across the back of her palm. 

“How’s your head, sweetheart?”

French shrugged. “It has a hole in it,” she murmured. She jiggled his hand. “Can we have some candles? Mary Margaret and Leroy are selling them for the Nuns.”

“So I heard,” he said. His voice was soft, strangely gentle for anyone that knew him. “We have electricity again, love. We don’t need candles.”

French looked up at him. “Just a couple?” she asked.

Gold smiled briefly, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. “I can’t refuse a sick woman anything,” he admitted. He glanced at Leroy. “Two of your finest candles for the lady.”

“They’re ten dollars each,” Leroy said, glancing around at the room that didn’t even have much furniture.

“I’m well aware of that,” Gold said, his voice calm and cool. “And as I said, we’ll take two.”

“I’ll get them,” Mary Margaret said, skirting the end of the sofa bed to get to the door. 

Gold looked back at French. “Happy now.”

To Leroy’s astonishment, she smiled like it was Christmas. “Completely.”

 

______________________________________________

 

They were having take out.

It felt like silly luxury to be sitting up in bed while her lover fed her lasagne by candlelight, but Anna didn’t feel inclined to complain. The takeout had been a gift. Leroy felt bad for getting her out of bed, and brought it over just a little while before.

He hadn’t come into the apartment, just holding out the foil box to Iain with a gruff, “It’s still hot. Make sure she eats some of it. Girl looks like she’s skin and bone.”

Iain had nodded curtly, and said, “I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my business.”

It had to be something to do with testosterone, Anna thought, but it wasn’t something she was about to mention to Iain. Instead, she watched him serve the lasagne up onto a plate, and smiled as he sat down on the bed beside her, holding the plate in his lap.

“I can feed myself,” she murmured.

“I know,” he said, “but you need your rest. Let me spoil you a little?”

“A little?” she teased, glancing over at the candles on the small cabinet.

He smiled, the small, bemused little smile he so often directed at her. “I don’t do enough for you, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re an invalid. Let me look after you before you run off to save the town again.”

She nestled against him. “Any time you like,” she murmured, opening her mouth to accept a forkful of food. 

It was good lasagne, but she couldn’t finish all of it. Iain ate what was left, and they settled in companionable quiet on the sofa, the room lit by the flickering of the two white Miner’s day candles he had bought for her. 

“Why did you want the candles?” he asked finally, his fingers tracing circles on her upper arms. “Is the electric light too bright for your eyes?” He looked at her, worried. “It’s not hurting your head, is it?”

Anna smiled. Her hand was resting on his chest, toying with his tie. “No,” she said. “I just missed the candlelight.” She sighed happily. “It feels more like us, when things are simple: warm bed, candles, each other.”

He shook his head wonderingly. “You are a marvel, sweetheart,” he said.

Anna rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m happy,” she corrected softly. “I love you.”

His lips pressed to her brow through the bandages. “I love you too.”


	8. Chapter 8

Henry was afraid of Mr Gold, but he liked Miss French.

That was why he waited outside their apartment until Mr Gold went out. Not many people visited Miss French for the same reason as him. Henry knew his mom had a meeting, and he knew Mr Gold didn't stay in the house all the time on weekends, because those were the days people couldn't avoid him.

He waited, hiding around the corner, until he saw Mr Gold drive away, then he ran up the stairs and knocked on the door.

Miss French opened the door a moment later. "Henry," she said with a tired smile. She still looked sick, but the bandages were off her head. All her hair was gone, cut short at the front, and shaved off at the back. She still had a big band aid stuck across the back of her head, where she'd hit it on the sidewalk.

"Hi," he said, smiling. He pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket. "I brought you a present."

Miss French's smile got bigger as she took the candy bar. "That's very sweet of you," she said, opening the door a bit wider. She was wearing a dressing gown over her pyjamas. "Would you like to come in?"

He hesitated. "Mr Gold won't mind?"

"If he does, I'll deal with him," Miss French assured him. 

Henry trotted into the apartment, then stopped, staring around. "Is this all of your place?" he asked, shocked.

"It's all we really need." Miss French returned to the sofa bed that took up most of the floor, pulling the covers off. "Can you help me fold it away?" she asked. Henry nodded, setting down his rucksack and helping her fold the bed back into just a sofa. "There." Her smile was warm. "Now, we can be civilised."

Henry sat down on the sofa. "I thought Mr Gold's house would be bigger," he said, looking around the room. It wasn't even as big as the dining room in his mom's house. There was a little kitchen along the back wall and the refrigerator was tiny, like an ice box.

"Why's that?" Miss French asked, putting the teakettle on to boil.

Henry shrugged. "Everyone is scared of him, like he's really powerful," he said. "People who are powerful usually have the biggest houses and the most money."

Miss French returned to sit by him. "Maybe he isn't as bad or powerful as everyone likes to think," she said, opening up the candy bar. She snapped it into pieces and offered him some. "Not everything is what it seems from the outside."

Henry kicked off his shoes and pulled his feet up onto the couch. "Like you," he said.

"Oh?"

Henry nodded. "Everyone said that Mr Gold was mean to you and you were scared of him and that was why you stayed," he said. "But I saw him at the hospital when you were hurt. He was so scared for you."

Miss French smiled just a little bit, but it was warm and made her thin face look bright. "He loves me," she said. "Even if no one else believes it."

Henry nibbled on a piece of the candy bar. "I was thinking," he said, "that maybe it's time you joined Operation Cobra."

Miss French's eyebrows rose. "What's that?"

Henry grinned and pulled his rucksack up into his lap. "It's top secret," he said. "Do you believe in magic?"

Miss French considered it. "I don't not believe in it," she said. She got up carefully and went over to the tea kettle. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "We don't have much, but if you want some milk or something?"

"I'm good," Henry replied, waiting until she returned with tea in a cup and saucer. Even with half her hair gone and her pyjamas on, she looked like a lady in a smart restaurant. 

"So Operation Cobra," she said.

Henry nodded, hauling his book out of his backpack. "My book is real," he said. "All the stories in it are true." He opened up the pages, showing her some of the pictures. "Everyone in town is in here. They're all from another world and they were cursed to be here."

Miss French looked at him, surprise and amusement in her eyes. "So we're all cursed? And that's the curse? That we don't know?"

Henry beamed at her. "Exactly!" he said. He turned a page, showing a picture of the Evil Queen. "That's my mom. She's the one who cast the curse. She wanted to take away everyone's happy endings."

Miss French frowned at the picture, reaching out a thin hand to touch the Queen's face. "She knew she'd need his help," she said. "That's why she took me: leverage."

Henry stared at her, his heart racing. "What?"

Miss French looked at him, blinking. "Mm?"

"You said she took you," Henry said. "You said you were leverage. That she would need his help."

Miss French frowned, bewildered. "I did?"

Henry nodded urgently. "Just now. You looked at the picture and you said it!" He flipped through the pages. "Maybe if you see other pictures, you'll remember stuff too?"

Miss French wrapped her hands around her teacup. "I-I don't remember saying anything," she said. She sounded worried.

"That's the curse," Henry said at once. "You hit your head, so it's messing it up. You just need to try real hard and remember."

Miss French hesitated. "I suppose it can't hurt to look," she said, leaning closer.

"Look at what?"

Henry squeaked in alarm. Mr Gold was back early and was standing in the doorway. "Nothing!"

Mr Gold's expression didn't change. He approached Miss French, leaning down to kiss her on the brow. Her eyes closed and she smiled just a little. "We were just talking about the Queen," Miss French said, her eyes still closed, and Mr Gold's eyes flicked towards Henry as he straightened up.

"Is that so?" He didn't ask which Queen or who they were talking about. He didn't say she was wrong. He just looked at Henry, his face as still as a statue.

Henry looked back at him warily. 

"Mm." Miss French leaned back against the back of the couch. "In the book."

Henry's heart sank as Mr Gold asked, "What book might that be?"

Reluctantly, he held out the book the Mr Gold, who sat down on the arm of the couch and took it, leafing through the pages. Lines wrinkled his forehead as he frowned, his eyes skimming over the words and pictures, and finally, he closed the book. 

"An interesting tale." He held the book back out to Henry. "But I think Anna needs her rest, not flights of fancy."

Henry took the book, scrambling off the sofa. "I didn't mean to bother you, Miss French."

Miss French smiled tiredly at him. "You didn't, Henry," she assured him. "I'm just not at my best." She reached out to pat his arm. "You can visit again, if you like."

"Anna," Mr Gold said quietly. "You need to rest."

She nodded with a sigh. "But a little visit can't hurt."

Mr Gold looked at the book, then at Henry. "Very well," he said finally, sitting down beside Miss French. "But no more stories from that book. Am I understood?"

Henry nodded unhappily. She was the first person apart from Graham who had started to remember. He glanced at her, as she leaned against Mr Gold. Her head was hurt. She could have died. Henry felt sick. Maybe that was why she was hurt: because he'd let her see the book and she'd started to remember, just like Graham. 

"I'll put the book away," he promised, looking up at Mr Gold.

"I think that would be wise," Mr Gold murmured.

 

_____________________________________________

 

The station was a mess, and Emma was swamped.

Emma hadn't realised just how much Anna did around the place until suddenly, she wasn't there. On top of everything, there was a missing person investigation under way, and if there was any time that she needed a deputy to help her deal with everything that was going on, it was now.

Ruby was trying to help.

Emma didn't have the heart to tell the other woman that she didn't really have time to teach her what to do or how to be a deputy, especially not with Kathryn still missing. Anna never needed instructions. She would just come in, use her initiative, and get on with whatever work was at hand. 

Still, having the company and moral support was a help, especially when Mary Margaret came in to report that David was lost out in the woods. It was just what they needed on top of his wife going missing. He'd wandered off before, and the last time that happened, he'd nearly drowned. 

Emma and Ruby headed out into the woods, to the last place that David was seen.

"I don't think I'm gonna be much help," Ruby confided, as they headed off the road.

Privately, Emma agreed, but Ruby needed the boost. If she didn't feel confident that she could do something, she'd be stuck in the same rut for the rest of her life. God knew Emma could have used a boost often enough in the past. At least she'd had Graham here, ready to give her the way to do it. 

"I wouldn't have brought you along if I didn't want your help," she said. "I don't know these woods and you've lived around here your whole life. You must have been around here before, right?"

Ruby looked at her, then nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

Emma spread her hands. "Whatever you can," she said. "See if you notice something that's not right, a trail, something." She glanced around. "I'm not a forest person. I see trees and leaves and dirt. I don't even know what I'm meant to be looking for." She looked at Ruby. "This is where you come from. You can do this."

Ruby tugged at the end of her coat, looking around. "I used to come up here with Granny when I was younger," she murmured, looking around. "She tried to teach me about nature and stuff." She walked forward, her eyes darting this way and that. She drew herself up, and for a second, she looked like someone else entirely. "There!"

Emma looked where she was pointing. All she could see was a cluster of bushes. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific," she said.

Ruby glanced at her. "The branches on the bushes are broken at knee-level," she said. "Something taller and heavier than a rabbit or a fox went through that way."

Emma was impressed. "Lead on, then," she said. 

They found David less than half an hour later, unconcious at the bottom of a slope. It looked like he'd slipped or tripped, and knocked his head on the way down. There was blood on his temple, and his skin was pale and cold. He only came around in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

Emma paced outside the ward as he was checked over.

Storybrooke was meant to be a quiet little place, but in the last few months, a long-term coma patient has woken up, the mines below the town had collapsed, the Sheriff had unexpectedly dropped dead of a heart attack, the new Deputy Emma had taken on had ended up hospitalised with head trauma, and now, the same coma patient's wife was missing and the man himself had been roaming the woods, acting - described by someone who knew him well - as if he was someone else. 

Sometimes, she thought it would be easier to give in to the madness and just accept that yes, the curse was real, Henry was right, and Regina was behind everything.

She'd barely got into the room to speak to David when that very person showed up.

Emma didn't know what it was about Regina's attitude, but it put her back up. 

As harmless as she found David, there was something being covered up, something suspicious about his behaviour, especially given his missing wife. She stormed out of the hospital, pulling out her cell, calling Ruby. The other woman was holding the fort back at the station, and Emma told her tersely to get down to the Toll bridge. That was where Mary Margaret had confessed that they held their trysts, and if anything was going to be found, it would be there. It would be quicker for her to go direct, than for her to wait for Emma to return to the station.

Ruby protested, but Emma was tired.

"You can do this, Ruby," she said. "Take the bug and get down there."

"What am I looking for?" Ruby asked, worried.

"Anything," Emma said. "Anything that seems strange or suspicious or out of place." She ran a hand over her face. "You found him by looking at broken branches. Do that again. See if you can find anything that isn't quite right." She glanced back at the hospital. "He'll be out of here any time, so we need to find it now."

Ruby was silent for a moment. "Emma, do you think he did something to Kathryn?"

"I don't know," Emma replied honestly. "Call me if you find anything." 

Ruby hung up, and Emma looked at her cell.

She could go back to the station, but it was the last thing she wanted to do. She couldn't face Mary Margaret, not yet, not knowing that she'd just sent someone to find evidence against Mary Margaret's sometime boyfriend. The diner would mean nosy people asking questions.

In the end, she headed in the direction of her deputy's home.

Anna French may have been a pariah, but she was a watchful one, and if anything suspicious had been going on before her accident, she would have noticed.

The curtain on the front window was drawn aside, letting the pale daylight in, and Emma tapped lightly on the glass. Inside, Anna was sitting on the couch, her attention on a book, but she looked up, smiled and waved for Emma to come in.

"Hey," Emma said, pushing the door closed behind her. "How're you doing?"

Anna rose from the couch gingerly as if movement still hurt. "Been worse," she admitted. She was as thin and pale as she had been the first time they met, but her smile was brighter. "Sit down. I'll get us some tea."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Emma said hastily. "Just sit down. It's okay. I'm not staying long."

Anna sat back down on the couch with a quick smile. "Thanks," she said. "Everything feels like such an effort just now."

"But you're feeling better?"

Anna nodded slightly. "Less punctured," she said. She searched Emma's face. "What's going on?"

Emma sprawled back against the back of the couch. "Everything," she said. "Kathryn Nolan's gone missing."

Anna stared at her. "Missing? When?"

"A few days after your accident," Emma said. "We found her car at the edge of town, and David Nolan has been having blackouts, wandering when he did. He doesn't remember where he's been."

Anna drew her socked feet up onto the sofa, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Do you think he did something to her?"

Emma hesitated. Did she? She wasn't sure. "It seems strange."

"You've got good instincts," Anna said quietly, watching her. "What's your gut telling you?"

Emma tilted her head to look at her. "My gut's telling me there's something wrong," she said. "Not just in the missing person way. Everything about Kathryn's disappearance feels off. It looks like she was leaving town, but no one knows anything about it. She never struck me as the kind to just drop everything and leave. She'd have told someone."

"Maybe she did," Anna said. "Maybe someone doesn't want you to know."

"Who?" Emma said. "David?"

"Do you think he would?"

Emma considered the man she'd left in the hospital. "No," she said. "Not deliberately. But who knows what he did when he was blacking out?"

"Or what he was told," Anna observed. "Maybe Kathryn told him, and he doesn't remember?"

Emma stared at her. "That would explain the phone call," she murmured. Anna made an enquiring sound. "David's phone was linked to Kathryn's, the night she vanished. He doesn't remember it, but there are records of the call being made."

Anna smiled. "There's an explanation for everything, if you just look," she said.

"Hold that thought," Emma said, as her cell shrilled. She opened it out. "Hey, Ruby. Did..." Her voice trailed off at the hysterical voice sobbing on the other end of the line. She scrambled up from the couch. "I'll be right there, Ruby. Don't touch anything."

Anne looked up at her. "What is it?"

Emma slid her phone away. "I think it just got worse," she said. "I'll let you know."

 

____________________________________

 

Mary Margaret had never been in trouble in her life, not once. 

She certainly had never been arrested before.

But now, someone had put a human heart in her jewellery box and a knife in her apartment, and she had no idea why. She had never hurt anyone. She tried her best not to offend anyone or upset anyone, so she couldn't imagine why anyone would want to make her look like a murderer.

Emma looked uncomfortable on the other side of the bars. "The evidence is piling up by the hour."

Mary Margaret wrapped her arms over her chest, shivering. "Okay," she said, "so what are you saying?"

Emma hesitated, then said quietly, "I'm saying you should hire a lawyer."

Mary Margaret felt like her blood was running cold. Emma insisted she believed in her innocence, but if she believed it, then why would she think a lawyer was necessary? Why would the evidence matter, when it was clearly all false? 

"An excellent idea."

Both of them flinched in surprise at Mr Gold's voice. He was standing by the door, leaning on his cane. Mary Margaret hadn't seen him around for weeks, but the difference in him was shocking. His face looked hollow, and there were deep shadows under his eyes. His suit - normally so fitted - seemed to be hanging on him.

His girlfriend, Miss French, was still ill and weak after her accident. It was obviously taken its toll on him. She would never have believed he cared for anyone, especially not the quiet little mouse that Anna French was, if Emma hadn't told her how the couple acted when no one else was around. 

"Gold," Emma said. "What are you doing here?"

He looked at her. "Offering my services," he murmured. "Anna mentioned Miss Blanchard's predicament, and I believe I can be of use."

Emma frowned at him. "You're a lawyer?"

"I have the papers to say so," he said. He looked at Mary Margaret. "It sounds as if you could use one."

"I didn't do anything," Mary Margaret said quietly. "But someone is doing a good job of making it look like I did."

Gold nodded, approaching them. He looked older than he ever had. "I'm sure we can come up with some means of defence," he said. He looked at Emma. "Miss Swan, what we need is evidence to counter that which has been found so far, anything that might prove Miss Blanchard's innocence."

Mary Margaret stared at him. "You believe me."

He looked at her through the bars. "You don't seem like a killer to me," he said quietly. "You care too much."

The graveness of his expression, the quietness of his voice, made her eyes prick with uncalled for tears. "I can't pay you," she said in a whisper.

He shook his head. "That's unnecessary."

“You’re going to do it for free?” Emma said in disbelief.

Gold looked at Emma. “Do your job, Sheriff,” he said finally. “Do what you’re here to do, and I’ll consider this balance redressed.”

Emma looked she was going to argue and Mary Margaret knew why. Gold might have influence, but from what Emma had told her, Gold and his lover were as poor as church mice, and turning down payment didn’t seem to fit with the man known as a ruthless debt collector. 

“I’ll pay you,” she said.

Gold shook his head. “Your job, Sheriff,” he said again. “You have matters to tend to. Miss Blanchard and I will put our heads together and come up with a plan of action.”

Emma searched his face, then nodded. “You do what you can,” she said, stalking over towards the office and snatching her coat. 

Mary Margaret watched her go, then turned her attention to Gold. “Why are you doing this, Mr Gold? I’ve done nothing to earn your help.”

“Anna.” He folded one hand on top of the other on his cane. “She has few friends.” He met her eyes, his expression calm, but drawn. “Once you’re free, I need to know you’ll treat her kindly.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Of course,” she promised softly. “Once I’m free?”

He nodded. “You won’t be behind these bars much longer, I promise you that.”

 

____________________________________________

 

Anna stirred as the bed shifted beneath her.

She had retired earlier than usual, and a glance at the alarm clock told her it was past ten. 

“You’re late in,” she murmured, as Iain lay down beside her.

He brushed a kiss against her cheek. “I went by the Sheriff’s station with Miss Swan, to make sure that Miss Blanchard was ready for her hearing tomorrow,” he murmured. His hand came to rest at her waist and she lifted her own to draw his arm around her. 

“How do you think it’s going to go?” she asked, nestling back against him.

Iain was silent.

He didn’t really need to say anything.

Whoever had framed Mary Margaret had been thorough. From what he’d told her over the past few days, Mary Margaret had hardly helped herself, snapping at the District Attorney, unable to provide alibis for the nights in question or a plausible reason for the knife and the jewellery box.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“Miss Swan is trying to hold matters together,” he said finally. 

Anna nodded. “She’s very close to Mary Margaret,” she said. “This has to be hard on her.”

Iain brushed his cheek against hers. He hadn’t shaved since early that morning, and his stubble rasped against her cheek. “More than you know,” he murmured. “But if there’s anyone that Miss Blanchard will listen to, it’s Emma Swan.”

Anna closed her eyes, smiling tiredly. “She’s got a way with people,” she murmured. “It might occasionally include punches and chainsaws, but she has a way of making people want to do the right thing.”

“It’s in her nature,” Iain agreed. His hand had slipped under her pyjama top and was gently stroking her stomach. 

Anna shifted onto her back, opening her eyes. By the faint half-light of a streetlamp, filtered through their thin curtains, she could barely make out his features, but she could see the dark gleam of his eyes. 

“You think a lot of her,” she observed quietly.

“She’s fated for great things,” he replied, the back of his fingers brushing her brow, as if he knew instinctively how much her head still ached. He bowed his head and kissed her gently, lingering when she leaned up into the kiss. 

She leaned back down against the pillows a moment later with a content little sigh. “Should I be worried?” she murmured, a teasing note in her voice. 

“Worried?” he asked, sounding more alarmed than he had reason to.

Her hand slid to rest on his forearm. “You and Miss Swan,” she said. “Off, fighting crime together. Should I be jealous?”

He stared at her, motionless in the darkness, then laughed helplessly. “Sweetheart, you were fighting crime with her long before I was,” he said, leaning down to nuzzle the tip of her nose. “If you want to follow that train of thought.”

Anna couldn’t help the sleepy smile that crossed her lips and she drew him down for another kiss. “Don’t worry,” she murmured against his lips. “I don’t go for blondes.”

For the first time since her accident, he drew her into his arms. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, and the springs of the sofa bed creaked beneath them.


	9. Chapter 9

The town glittered in the distance, half-hidden by the trees and the night's darkness. It looked like thousands of fireflies pinned to the landscape. Electricity. A magic all of its own.

Jefferson twisted the dial, focussing the telescope on the Sheriff's station.

A game was afoot.

The Saviour with her little star was on a mission. He watched her scramble into her yellow bug and smiled. Her friend had run close to an hour before. He knew that because he had watched - as he had for nearly three decades - and when she came closer and closer to the edge of the line, to the edge of sanity and reality, he'd found her.

She tried to fight, of course. Poor lost little lamb didn't know just how useful she was going to be.

Jefferson paused to look in on her.

"Don't worry," he said, still smiling. "You won't be alone for long."

The woman's eyes flashed, but she said nothing. A convenient handkerchief tied around her mouth made sure of that. She was pale and she was frightened and she had no idea that he'd saved her poor, cursed little brain from becoming nothing more than the shadow of a person that the Queen had created.

Well, saved for a given degree of salvation.

If she had to die to make the Saviour believe, that was acceptable.

He pulled on his overcoat as he descended the stairs, humming under his breath. The curse was weakening. Everyone was feeling it, even if they couldn't tell what it was. The Saviour just needed to stop messing around and do her job, and now, she was close enough for him to make her listen.

Regina had closed him away, kept him at a distance, and no one even knew he was there, watching, waiting.

Now, the Saviour would.

Now, she would hear the truth and finally, he would be able to return to Grace. He'd made a promise after all. It had taken him a long time, but he would keep it, even if it meant putting a bullet through the eye of the fair Princess currently tied up in the spare room.

It was still raining, the roads misty and grey with it.

Jefferson turned up his collar, striding out into the forest. He knew his way towards town, even if he had never ventured there. It would hurt to much to go anywhere near Grace, knowing that she didn't know him. If he saw her, if he was within a dozen yards of her, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from hugging her. The last thing he wanted was to scare her.

When the little yellow bug had arrived in town, when he had watched, and felt the walls around him loosen for the first time, he’d started watching more closely. He watched faces and people and what he saw made him angrier than ever.

The Queen’s father was nowhere to be seen, until he saw her Majesty go to a crypt in the cemetery to lay flowers. The man whose freedom Jefferson had bought lay in wormy earth, while Jefferson knew he could have been with his own daughter. How the old man died, he didn’t know, but curses had prices and of all the things for Regina to lose, her father was the only decent thing she had left.

Other faces were familiar too: the heart-seeking scientist, now in colour; the Huntsman guard who played Sheriff then played dead; and of course, Rumpelstiltskin. He was a man now, in the land without magic that he had been seeking for as long as Jefferson had known him.

Everyone in Storybrooke was alone. Everyone.

Except the deal-maker and word-wrangler, and at first, Jefferson wondered what little tricks and games had earned him that little pleasure.

It wasn’t until he watched Rumpelstiltskin and his woman return to the home they shared that he saw Regina’s concept of the world at play. They lived as poorly as he and Grace had lived in the forest, scraping by in pitiful apartment complex in the worst part of town. 

Poverty, Jefferson knew, frightened Regina.

She was born with a silver spoon between her lips, and every luxury she could imagine laid out before her. Of course poverty would terrify her. 

Perhaps she had given Rumpelstiltskin back his little playmate, but she’d housed them in a shack with hardly a pair of pennies to rub together. She probably wondered how anyone could be happy like that. Jefferson knew he’d hated it. It was doable, but it didn’t mean he liked it, but Regina would have hated every second.

And yet, Rumpelstiltskin and his woman seemed happy. Poor, thin, wasted, and weak, but he watched them together, watched the smiles and the softness and the affection, and by all the Gods, he hated them for it. 

As much as Rumpelstiltskin had been his ally, as soon as Jefferson hung up his hat, as soon as he stopped being ‘useful’, there was no more gold thread, no more velvets and silks, no more stone walls and fine furniture. There were mushrooms to forage and a baby girl to raise without her mother. No fairy Godmothers came for the daughter of a realm jumping trouble-maker. And no wicked Godfathers either.

Jefferson wasn’t useful, and so Rumpelstiltskin just let him go, cut him loose, and that was where Regina had found him, destitute and desperate. 

If the curse broke, he hoped that the woman would come to her senses. Rumpelstiltskin had made the Queen into a monster, he had gloated about it. It was only fair that he suffered the consequences.

Jefferson looked ahead down the road. He could see the bug weaving through the trees and smile grimly. 

The sooner the better. 

 

______________________________________________

 

Regina was shaking with anger.

There was a plan in place, and everything was meant to adhere to it. 

Gold was protective and possessive of his little tart, and that was why she’d trusted his plan to work, but now Snow White was sitting in her cell, virtue all over her face, and the plan was coming apart at the seams. 

“What is she doing here?”

Mr Gold gazed placidly at her, as if he was innocent of any crime. “She came back.”

Regina’s hand tightened on the strap of her purse. “You said this was going to work,” she said darkly. “That she’d take the key, and she’d go.”

He inclined his head. “She did,” he said. “But it seems Miss Swan is rather more… resourceful than we thought.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Fear not, your Majesty. Miss Blanchard is still guilty of murder. You may still get what you want.”

Regina narrowed her eyes, leaning closer to him, her teacher, her betrayer. “I’d better,” she warned quietly. “You know what’s on the line if this goes wrong, Gold. I want results.”

His smiled thinned, his lips a hard line. “And results you shall have,” he murmured. “Your precious genie helped me with the dispatch. You know there’s nothing else that can possibly go wrong. What do you expect me to do? Raise the dead to inconvenience you, dearie?” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “As I told you long ago, magic can do much, but no’ that, and especially not here.”

Regina searched his face. “Why did you take Sidney with you, anyway?”

Gold’s expression was unreadable. “You know why.”

She did too. She trusted Gold as far as she could throw him, and he knew it. Sidney had reported back everything that had happened: seeing Kathryn’s unconscious body rolled into a shallow grave; Sidney offering his own gun to Gold; Gold declining, insisting that if anything went wrong, he would be blamed himself. Sidney had killed for her before. He saw no reason not to do it again. The man’s moral compass pointed due Regina, and she liked it that way.

“Very well,” she said. “You know what I want, Gold.”

He nodded. “See you at the arraignment.”

Regina turned back to the door, walking away from him. Perhaps it hadn’t been his plan that the perfect Miss Swan would sweep in and save the day. If she’d had someone waiting for her like he did, then she wouldn’t have risked them.

She paused on the steps.

But what if he had?

A caution was in order, to remind him what and who was at stake.

Regina adjusted her bag on her shoulder and headed out into the town. 

It was early enough that most of the stores were still closed, so she stopped by the diner to buy a small box of pastries, before she headed in the direction of Gold’s pathetic little home on the edge of town. The arraignment preparations would take him some time, and the hearing was scheduled for nine-thirty.

Regina made her way up the staircase, grimacing at the peeling paint on the door, the damp around the windows, and the winter water damage along the edge of the roof. If they had been in the old world, it would have been a hovel, with straw thatch and no glass in the windows.

She rapped briskly on the door, surprised when it was opened almost at once.

Anna French’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “Madam Mayor?” She was still pale and her shorn head was concealed under a bandana, but she was upright, dressed, and from the looks of things, in the middle of cleaning the apartment.

Regina smiled brightly at her. “I thought I should come by and see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine,” French said. “Thank you.” The door was still half-closed and she was blocking it with her body. “If that’s all, I’m really very busy.”

Regina held out the box of pastries. “I brought breakfast.”

There was suspicion and uncertainty in French’s eyes. “That’s very kind of you, but I really do have a lot to do.”

“Nonsense!” Regina said, gently but firmly pushing the door wide. “Take a seat. Breakfast never hurt anyone.” She pressed the box of pastries into the French girl’s hands. “Now, I’ll make you some tea.”

“I’d rather get on with cleaning,” the girl protested, but the curse was still holding enough that Regina knew she wouldn’t protest too vehemently, the captive little goose.

“Dust isn’t going anywhere,” Regina said. “It can wait until you’ve eaten.”

Reluctantly, the younger woman subsided onto the couch. “Mr Gold is already at work.”

“Oh, I know, dear,” Regina said, smiling maliciously as she filled the kettle. “It was you I wanted to talk to.” She put the water on to boil, and turned around to look at the woman who had been her captive and her pawn for so long. “Tell me, my dear, do you know what he does to earn a crust?”

Blue eyes looked at her defiantly. “Yes.”

Regina sighed and clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Oh, Anna, dear, I really don’t think you do.”

 

_____________________________________________

 

The quiet was nice.

After days of pitying stares and whispers and people talking as if she'd died, Kathryn liked the quiet. It wasn't a situation she'd ever imagined being in: faking her own death briefly to save her own life. She didn't understand what was going on and why Regina would want to do such a thing, but Gold's suspicions had been right.

He'd dug a shallow grave a short distance from the cabin. That frightened her more than anything as he helped her down into it. For all she knew, he was a terrible as rumours said, and she was helping him to kill her. There was still blood on her face from the car wreck, which he wouldn't let her wipe away. It looked better, as if he had rendered her unconscious.

She hadn't believed a word he said until she heard a car approaching.

On his orders, she closed her eyes, feigning unconsciousness.

There were footsteps on the leaves and dry sticks, and she heard a familiar voice: Sidney Glass from The Mirror.

"Is she dead?"

"Not yet," Gold said. "Do you have it?"

Kathryn cracked her eyes open. It was dark, but she could see the men outlined by the headlights of the distant car. Gold took something from Glass, examining it. Kathryn’s heart thumped painfully when she saw the shape of a gun.

“Check she’s unconscious,” Gold said.

The other man crouched down over her. She could smell alcohol, and had to fight to keep from flinching when he patted her cheek. She didn’t know what Gold was doing, but when Glass rose, Gold held the gun back out to him.

Kathryn bit down on a whimper.

“She’s out,” Glass said.

“Finish her,” Gold said coldly, as if she were a dog in the street to be taken care of.

The gun fired twice, and Kathryn felt something hit her. It wasn’t a bullet, but it stung through her shirt and she felt wetness. She forced herself to hold her breath, and wondered if Sidney was drunk enough that he wouldn’t notice how much she was shaking.

“We done?”

“I would say so,” Gold murmured, as they turned away from the grave. Their voices were too low for her to hear, and she waited there, breathless and shivering, until the car door slammed, the engine roared to life, and she heard Gold’s limping footsteps return to the graveside. “Mrs Nolan?”

He’d helped her from the grave, brushing the dirt from her jacket, and solemnly thanked her for her assistance. He even took off his coat and wrapped it around her shaking shoulders. It felt like it was all some messed up dream, as he led her back to the cabin, lit a fire in the grate, and gravely instructed her of the importance of following his instructions.

So she stayed in the cabin, in the quiet, and it was nice. 

There was enough food to last her a while. There were several changes of clothes. There was a bed that - while not the softest in the world - was comfortable and warm. And there was the cellphone, so he could call her and let her know when it was time for her to make her reappearance.

Her bloodied and dirty clothes were kept that way, and when the message came in, she knew just what to do. 

Gold had left her a map towards town, and she memorised it, before putting it in the grate and burning it to a cinder. She dressed in the filthy and bloodied clothes, then headed out into the woods, keeping just off the main path until she was within sight of Storybrooke. She paused there and smeared some dirt on her face and hands. The miraculous return from the dead had to be as real as possible. 

If Gold was to be believed, Regina wouldn’t be able to come after her again. The Sheriff would see what was going on, and things would change. No more attempted murders, no more strange disappearances, no more…. Kathryn didn’t know what. 

All she knew was that Gold said it would be put right, and against her better judgement, she believed him. He had saved her life, after all, and that kind of thing tended to engender trust in the most unexpected of people.

 

______________________________________

 

Anna was washing the dishes when Iain came home from the Sheriff’s station. She didn’t really need to wash them, but she needed to be doing something with her hands. She needed something - anything - to distract her.

The news had been on the radio.

Kathryn Nolan was not dead, had never been dead, and had miraculously stumbled back into town, bloodied and muddied, but very much alive. 

It was all unsettling.

The radio report didn’t say if she’d just wandered away from her car, or if she had been taken. If she had just staggered off into the woods, why hadn’t she been found by the search parties? If she had been taken, did she remember escaping anyone? And if she was taken, who would want her out of the way?

Anna rubbed her brow. Her head was aching, and she knew she’d left a streak of bubbles across her temple.

“Everything all right, sweetheart?” Iain asked quietly, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t know,” she answered just as quietly. A few days earlier, Regina had paid her a visit, and what the Mayor had said seemed far-fetched and unbelievable, but it was weighing on her mind now, especially given Kathryn Nolan’s miraculous reappearance.

Iain approached her, slipping an arm around her waist. He knew better than to tell her to stop and sit down. “Anything I can help with?”

Anna drew her hands from the soapy water and wiped them on a cloth. Her fingers were wrinkled, she noticed. She didn’t think she’d been washing the dishes for that long. She turned in Iain’s embrace, looking up at him. 

Mayor Mills had spun terrible tales of the man before her. She knew Iain was a good man at heart, and she trusted him with her life, but she wasn’t blind and she wasn’t stupid. She knew he had a reputation in town, and that people were afraid of him, but she wanted to believe they were simply stories.

And yet…

She remembered how frightened Ashley still was around him. She knew Emma didn’t trust him with anything but Anna’s own welfare. She had seen money pass through his hands that far outstripped his income.

“If I ask you a question, can you promise to answer truthfully?” she asked. 

He frowned at her. “Is something wrong?”

“Iain, please,” she said, her voice trembling. Her head was aching unbearably, and all she wanted was the reassurance that Regina was wrong about him, that no matter what people believed, he would never deceive her or lie to her about what he had been doing.

She saw the way he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, the way he swallowed hard before her spoke. He was nervous. Frightened even. “What do you want to know?” he asked, his eyes on hers.

Anna didn’t know anymore.

Only one question was sticking out of all the dozens running through her head.

She laid one hand on his chest. “Did you have anything to do with Kathryn Nolan’s disappearance?” she asked.

She felt his heartbeat quicken, saw the way his jaw clenched, and he didn’t need to say a word for her to know he was involved. She winced as pain lanced through her head, and stepped back against the counter.

“Do you really think I would do something like that?” he asked tightly.

She stared at him. “Do you really think you can keep this from me?” she asked. She felt dizzy, and it was strange, as if her head was disconnected from her body, her legs numb and senseless beneath her. She shook her head slowly. It felt odd. “Rumpel,” she whispered, “what have you done?”

He opened his mouth to speak, and she saw him lunge for her, catching her in his arms, but it was all silence as the world went dark around her.


	10. Chapter 10

Kathryn Nolan was upright and talking, though she could tell very little of what had happened to her.

For someone who had been lost in the forest around Storybrooke, she was in pretty good shape. The doctor said she must have found shelter, and Kathryn agreed that there had been cabins or some kind of buildings that she rested in. She was dehydrated, exhausted, her feet blistered and her hands grazed.

Emma asked questions as gently as she could, but it was no big surprise that Doctor Whale didn't want his patient getting overexcited. She'd already been through enough.

Doctor Whale took Emma aside, when Kathryn sank back against the pillows, her eyes closed. "I've kept her clothing for you to have a look over," he said. "There are some things you might find... suspicious."

"More suspicious than a woman disappearing in the woods and somehow being missed by all the search parties?"

Whale said nothing, leading her off the ward and into one of the storage room. There was a box on the work surface, and Whale put on a pair of gloves, then drew out the contents. Emma frowned, examining through the clothes. They were bloodied and torn, and she could see the back of both the trousers and the jacket were thick with mud, as if Kathryn had lain down on her back in the dirt for some time. Very few people would fall flat on their back, even if they collapsed or fell asleep. Most would tend to roll onto their side.

"Huh."

Apart from that, the clothes didn't look like they had been worn for weeks of wandering. They were dirty and torn and blood-stained, but wherever Kathryn Nolan had been, she had clearly been sheltered from the rain storms of the previous weeks.

Doctor Whale stepped back when his beeper went off. He pulled it out of his pocket, checking it, then frowned.

"Sheriff, I think you may need to come with me."

Emma looked at him, worried. "Something's happened?"

Whale's expression was grim. "Could be," he said. He headed for the door, stopping and holding it open for her. "We need to get down to the ER."

He didn't say more, but by the time they were within two halls, she could hear why they had been called.

"I'm not leaving her!" Gold's voice was raised in fury, and they rounded the corner to see him held back by two of the orderlies in the waiting room, struggling like a madman. "Get your hands off me!"

Emma ran forward. "Gold! Calm down!"

He bared his teeth at her, fighting desperately. "They won't let me go to her!"

"Anna?"

Gold nodded, somehow managing to free an arm and double one of the orderlies over with an elbow to the gut. Emma caught his arm instead.

"Calm down! This isn't helping!"

Whale stepped closer. "What happened, Gold?"

Gold shook his head. "I don't know," he said. He was trembling and his arm was taut as a wire beneath Emma's hand. "She was holding her head. She collapsed."

Whale swore, heading into the emergency room.

Emma jerked her head, indicating that the orderlies could let go of Gold. The man had stopped fighting, but he looked pale and sick with worry. "Sit down," she told him, her grip on his arm unyielding. He seemed lost, now that she was there, the fight draining out of him.

"She was getting better," he said numbly, sinking down to sit on the chair.

Emma sat down beside him. "Can you think of anything that might have caused it? Was she under any pressure?"

Gold shook his head. "She was resting," he said, then froze, lifting his head. "Nolan. She heard about Mrs Nolan's reappearance. I think it was weighing on her." He rose abruptly, limping across the floor. Emma watched him warily, but he didn't seem like he was about to storm into the ER. "She didn't need to know about it at all."

"It was all over the news, Gold," Emma murmured, propping her elbows on her knees. "You can't protect her from everything."

He turned sharply, grief and fear vying in his eyes. "I can try." He looked towards the doors that separated them from the ER. Even through the frosted glass, the movement seemed frantic, urgent. Gold seemed to shrink, falling down to sit in the nearest seat.

"She's in the best hands now, Gold," Emma said quietly. "They're doing everything they can."

He turned away from her, covering his face with his trembling left hand. "What if it's not enough?" he asked in a shaking voice.

Emma could never remember seeing him so vulnerable, but there was no comfort she could give him. "I don't know," she said sympathetically. "It's not like they can just snap their fingers and make her better."

His head jerked around so fast, she was surprised she didn't hear the bones cracking. "No," he said, his voice hoarse. "That's true."

The door of the ER opened a moment later, and Gold rose, leaning heavily on his cane.

Whale emerged, his expression grave. "Miss French appears to have suffered an aneurysm," he said. "We've induced a coma to reduce any stress and brain activity to minimum, but it looks like we may have to operate to stabilise her and reduce the pressure on her brain."

Emma saw the way Gold swayed on his feet, the colour draining from his face. She rose silently, catching his elbow to hold him steady. The fact he did not shake off the contact worried her almost as much as the look on his face.

"What are the risks?" he asked in a distant voice.

Whale hesitated. "Normally, I would advise against surgery," he said, "but if the pressure on her brain is not reduced as soon as possible, it could rupture."

The sound that escaped Gold's throat didn't sound human. "Save her," he choked out. "Please."

Whale nodded, turning and heading back into the ER.

"Gold..." Emma began quietly.

Gold seemed to remember where he was and drew away from her, staring at her. "I can't stay here," he said abruptly. "I can't sit around and wait for news." He covered his right hand with his left on the handle of his cane, his knuckles white. He looked up at her, the raw emotion in his face staggering. “Swan, I… can’t be here. I have to do something.”

Emma nodded. “I’ll be here anyway,” she said. “I need to do some work on Kathryn’s things, and the station isn’t exactly stocked with equipment.” She pulled out her cell and offered it to him. “Put in your number. I’ll call if there’s any news.”

His hand was shaking so much he could barely manage, but he finally handed the phone back to her. “Miss Swan,” he said quietly, “Thank you.”

Emma slipped the cell back into her pocket. “She’s my deputy, Gold,” she said, her voice just as soft. “I’m worried too.”

He looked at her for a long moment, as if he couldn’t understand her, then turned and walked away, his head bowed, looking every one of his years.

 

_________________________________________________

 

People didn’t usually phone the house, especially not to speak to him.

Henry looked at the receiver, then put it back at his ear. “Mr Gold?”

“I need your help, my boy,” Gold said. “Can you meet me at your old castle?”

Henry swallowed hard. He didn’t know how Mr Gold knew about the castle. He didn’t know how Mr Gold knew his mom would be out. “Why?” he asked, hoping he sounded brave like a hero and not scared like a little boy.

Mr Gold was silent for a moment, then said, “It’s about the curse.”

They met at the bare ground where his castle used to stand less than an hour later. 

Mr Gold was sitting on a bench. He looked old and tired, and looked up at Henry without even pretending to smile.

Henry sat down cautiously on the end of the bench. His mom was out, but he didn’t know where or for how long, and if she knew he was out on his own and talking to Mr Gold, he knew he would be a world of trouble.

The wind was coming in from the sea, cold and salty.

“You know about the curse?” 

Mr Gold nodded. “I know,” he said. “I know Emma Swan is the one who will break it.”

Henry set his rucksack on his knees. “Why are you telling me now?” he asked. “If you knew all the time…” He frowned. “How do you know?”

Mr Gold looked at him. “You have the book,” he said. “Haven’t you worked that out? Who would know a way around the curse?”

Henry gazed at him. “The person who made the curse,” he said. “But that was my mom.”

Mr Gold shook his head. “Your mother cast it,” he said quietly. “Other hands built it, but she was the one to use it.” His lips twitched, almost a smile. “When you condemn yourself to a prison for twenty eight years, you need to have a key to let yourself out.”

Emma. She was the reason everything started changing.

“When Emma came to town,” Henry said. “That’s when you remembered, isn’t it?”

Mr Gold laughed, but it was tired and sad. “Smart boy,” he said.

“But why are you talking to me about it?” Henry asked. “Shouldn’t you tell Emma? She doesn’t believe me, but she would believe you.”

“I doubt that,” Mr Gold said. “Miss Swan is not the kind of person to believe in magic and fairytales.” He tapped his fingers on the handle of his walking stick. “When you’ve had a hard life, it’s hard to believe in magic and stories and happy endings.” He looked at Henry. “We need to help her to believe. We’re the only ones who know about the curse, so we’re the only ones who can show her it’s true.”

Henry hesitated. “We’re not the only ones,” he said.

Mr Gold frowned. “That’s impossible.”

Henry shrugged. “Someone wrote the book,” he said. “So someone knows. And there’s a stranger in town who no one knows. He told me how to prove my mom was bad. He told me about mom’s keys.”

“And he’s still in town?”

Henry nodded. “He’s staying at Granny’s.”

Mr Gold got up, leaning on his stick. “Take me to him,” he said. “I think he and I need to have a little talk.”

Henry pulled on his rucksack, walking alongside Mr Gold. “Why are you helping now?” he asked, as they headed back in the direction of town. “I mean, you could have helped before, but you didn’t.”

“Miss French is sick,” Mr Gold said. “I need the curse to break so I can help her.”

“You mean magic.”

“Yes.” Mr Gold was looking straight ahead. “I mean magic.”

Henry was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “You know magic comes with a price?”

“More than anyone,” Mr Gold replied. “But it’s a price I’ll pay.”

 

_______________________________________

 

It wasn't going to plan. 

August knew all about Rumpelstiltskin's son. He'd met the man who was once the boy. He had it all mapped out: Rumpelstiltskin would lead him to the dagger, the dagger would make him controllable, and then, he would help to break the curse. It was simple. The Dark One would be forced to the side of good, the curse would be broken, and August would survive to be reunited with his father.

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't meant to come barging into his room, pinning him to the wall, and demanding his name. He wasn't meant to be accompanied by Henry Mills. He wasn't meant to demand August's aid in persuading Emma that it was all real, and that the curse needed to be broken. 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he protested.

Rumpelstiltskin's dark eyes blazed. "The boy tells me you know," he said, holding up the gleaming handle of his cane close to August's face, "and if you want this curse broken as much as I do, you should start talking."

There was a madness in the man's eyes, a ferocity fuelled by more than just the desire to find his long-lost son.

August knew he wasn't the strongest or smartest person in the world, but even the bravest man wouldn't have tried to fool the man in front of him, not now. The plan to find the dagger, the plan to force his hand, would be tantamount to suicide.

Anyway, he wanted the curse broken.

That was all August was hoping for.

"I've been trying," he said quietly. "Your precious Saviour is the most cynical person I've ever met."

Rumpelstiltskin's hands fell away. "You'll have to try harder," he snapped. "The curse needs to be broken as soon as possible."

"You think I don't know that?" August retorted angrily. "What the hell do you think I've been trying to do for months?"

"Clearly to great effect!"

"Stop yelling!" Henry exclaimed. "It's not helping!"

August subsided back against the wall, rubbing his bruised arm. "You're right," he said, watching Rumpelstiltskin warily. The man was prowling back and forth across the floor, like a caged animal. August had heard tales enough about the imp from his father, and despite Rumpelstiltskin's slight build, there was something powerful and deadly contained behind the usually-calm facade. 

"What are we gonna do?" Henry asked, looking between them.

"We need to make Emma understand how much this needs to be done," August replied. "She doesn't care about the town. She just cares about you."

"And loving her child isn't enough?" Rumpelstiltskin had stopped moving, and was standing by the window, looking out over the square. His shoulders were rigid. "Parents will do wonderful and terrible things for the sake of their child."

"She has to do more," August said quietly. "Something big."

Rumpelstiltskin turned without seeming to move, the light through the window casting his face into shadows. "You have asked her to believe," he said. "That's no mean thing." He turned his head towards Henry. "You should divert your mother. Keep her from going after Emma."

The boy paled. "Do you think she would?"

"She already tried to have others killed," Rumpelstiltskin said.

"Don't tell him things like that," August interrupted, looking between them. "He doesn't need to hear that."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes blazed at him. "You think he's blind?" he said. "He knows what his mother's capable of. Open your eyes. This isn't a fairytale. This isn't an easy happy ending. The more he knows, the safer he'll be."

August opened his mouth the protest. Sometimes, the innocence of a child could be their greatest shield. He'd seen his own childhood ruined, and he knew Emma's had been too.

"He's right," Henry said, so quietly August almost didn't hear him. "She killed Graham. She sent Miss French's dad after her too." He looked up at August so gravely that he looked ten years older. "I don't want her to hurt Emma."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “You go and keep an eye on her.”

Henry shucked his rucksack onto his back and ran for the door.

The minute it closed, Rumpelstiltskin rounded on August again, watching him like a snake would a mouse. “I have little time,” he said. “I’m on a short chain. Belle was the one who was helping Miss Swan. Now,” His lip curled in disdain, “I have to depend on you.”

August shied back warily from the rage in Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes. “Belle?”

The man made a sharp gesture with one hand. “Anna French. The Deputy. She was there to help Emma, and Regina has quite deftly made sure that she’s out of the way.”

“The accident,” August murmured, remembering the day Henry rushed into the diner, crying out that Miss French was hurt.

“No accident,” Rumpelstiltskin said tersely. “You must have some plan. Some last little thing that will convince her where all else has failed.”

August wished he did, but all he had left was panic and desperation. “I can take her back to where it all began,” he said. “Where she arrived here and show her where she came from.”

The man’s dark eyes narrowed. “So you were meant to be her guardian?”

August sank to sit on the edge of the bed. “We all make bad choices,” he said, looking away from Rumpelstiltskin’s face. “I want to put things right.”

Rumpelstiltskin was silent for several minutes. “I’ll point her in your direction,” he said. “But if all else fails, if the curse remains unbroken, if…” He stopped, then finished in a dark, ugly whisper, “If it’s too late, then her failure is upon your head.”

August looked up at him. “All this for this Belle?”

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at him, ice in his eyes. “Do what you must,” he said, then strode out of the door, leaving August sitting in the room, his hands trembling on his knees.

 

______________________________________________

 

Anna was sequestered in a private ward close to the intensive care unit. 

She was still unconscious, though Whale had assured Rumpelstiltskin that surgery had been successful. It didn’t look like it. She was pale and motionless, connected to lines and machines. Only the soft, steady beep of the machine let him know she was alive at all. 

Rumpelstiltskin sat by the bedside, watching over her, even as evening turned to night, then night gradually turned once more to day.

When he had returned to the hospital, he spoke briefly to Emma. She was already suspicious enough of Kathryn Nolan’s disappearance, and the Mayor’s involvement in the case, and clearly her son’s situation was bearing on her mind.

Standing in the sterile corridors, she looked back towards the room where Anna rested. “If you had to,” she said quietly, “you’d do anything to keep your loved one safe, wouldn’t you?”

“I have done before,” Rumpelstiltskin said, “and I don’t doubt I will again.”

She shifted the box she was carrying in her hands, evidence from Kathryn Nolan. He idly wondered if there was anything contained within it that might tie to him. If there was, he supposed, it was too late for it to matter now. Nolan was on his side. She trusted him, and that meant he was temporarily safe.

Anna, on the other hand, would need protection.

“You know the law, right?” Emma asked hesitantly.

“I can’t help you further, I’m afraid,” he told her. He smiled, brief, sad, tired, too drained to even draw the mask in place again. He nodded towards the room where Anna - or was she Belle already? - was lying. “My place is here. With her. There are others in town who might be able to, but not me. Not now.”

Swan’s face fell, as if he was her hope for a reasonable answer, some kind of sense. 

He couldn’t help her, not directly, not as long as the curse held.

So she walked away, and he sat with Anna.

He held out little hope that she would be well. 

Life had taught him many lessons, and the first and foremost of those lessons was that hope was a fragile, delicate thing. It could be shattered by a blow, but just as easily by a word, a whisper, or the closing of the eyes. It was precious, and it was beautiful, but ultimately, if you held too tight, you would break it just as easily.

As morning broke, slivers of light cutting through the strip blinds that covered the window, he gently lifted Anna’s cool, thin hand in his, simply letting her fingertips rest against his. Her hands weren’t soft, delicate things. She worked hard, stubbornly so, and he could feel the calluses.

With his forefinger, he gently traced the veins in the back of her palm.

“I want to tell you everything, sweetheart,” he whispered, circling each knuckle gently with his fingertip. “I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you want to know.” He lifted her hand up and pressed his lips tenderly to her fingers. “You deserve to know.”

If hope had been there, he might have believed he felt her squeeze his hand, or her eyelashes might have flickered.

But Rumpelstiltskin had lived too many lifetimes.

Anna was still and silent and unresponsive.

He pressed his cheek to the back of her hand, leaving it wet with his tears, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “I want to tell you about my son,” he whispered. “I want to tell you about Baelfire.”


	11. Chapter 11

Regina was unhappy.

Her apple tree was withering, and her nightmares of her own end were becoming more and more frequent. The only comfort she could take was that Henry was still with her, and that under state law, the woman who squeezed him out and signed him away had no rights to him at all. 

At least, as far as she knew. 

But that wouldn’t stop the Swan woman from stealing her son’s affections away from her. If the curse broke, and Emma Swan had the support of the people of the town, then Henry would be taken.

It was simple: the curse had to be maintained.

She had no magic, of course. Storybrooke didn’t allow that.

But if anyone did, it would be Rumpelstiltskin. He’d managed to break free of the curse, which meant that he might have access to magic that she didn’t, and if he did, if he wanted his precious Belle spared, he would do the smart thing and cooperate.

She saw Henry off to school, then headed to the hospital.

She’d heard, of course, that Anna French had been admitted again.

She hadn’t cared enough to pay attention to the details, but as she walked through the wards, looking for Rumpelstiltskin, she wished she had. If there was something wrong with the girl, it might be useful.

A brief stop at the nurse’s station told her what she needed to know, and it was a surprise to find out that Miss French, proverbial thorn in her side, was no longer capable of getting in the way at all. A coma, it seemed, from which she was not expected to wake up. 

That… complicated matters.

All the same, the question had to be asked.

Regina rapped sharply on the door of the private room that Miss French was allocated, then walked in without waiting for a response.

Rumpelstiltskin lifted his head from the edge of the bed. He looked like death, hollow-eyed and exhausted, stubble darkening his chin. By comparison, his lover looked peacefully asleep, her expression tranquil, as if she had no idea how much her ongoing existence was destroying the man who loved her.

He stared at Regina for several minutes, just too long, before baring his teeth. “Get out.”

“If I walk out this door,” Regina said coldly, “I can have them take her off that machine that’s keeping her alive.”

He was on his feet in an instant, around the end of the bed with all the savage energy she remembered from the Forest. For a second, she almost retreated, then she saw the way he was clutching the end of the bed, remembered his crippled leg in this world, and smiled.

“Not so strong now, are you?” she said with mocking brightness.

He was leaning heavily on the end of the bed, his teeth bared, his hair wild around his face. “If you don’t walk out of that door right now, I promise you that when the curse breaks, I will tear your face off with my bare hands.”

Regina flinched back before she could stop herself. He’d looked at her with mockery and contempt before, but she had never seen such raw hatred. 

“The curse isn’t going to break,” she forced herself to say. 

“Really, dearie?” he growled. “Then why have you come running to me with your threats?”

Regina’s hands clenched by her sides. “If the curse remains, she’ll stay alive,” she said, knowing it was a desperate straw to clutch at. “Can you guarantee that if the curse breaks?”

“Alive?” he echoed. “You call this a life?” He jerked his hand towards the door. “Get out. You have nothing I want except your absence.”

“So you won’t help me?”

He snorted. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t.” He stepped closer to her, away from the bed. “You brought this on her. You sent her father after her.” He was so close and his eyes almost looked black in the dim light. “If she dies, so do you. You. Your boy. Your damned town.”

Rumpelstiltskin rarely killed.

That was something that she remembered. He twisted people in circles and made them do terrible things, but she couldn’t remember him shedding blood or killing for sport, but the look in his eye was unlike anything she had ever seen before, and she felt a shiver run the length of her spine. 

“You’re going to risk her life in challenging me?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes flicked over her dismissively. “You still think yourself so powerful,” he said condescendingly. “A foolish child dressed up in mother’s clothes.” His black, savage eyes narrowed. “Get out of here.”

She wasn’t afraid of him, she told herself as she stalked out of the room. Not at all. She would just find someone else to help her hold the curse in place, and then he would see just how powerful she really was.

 

____________________________________________

 

 

Emma had tried to do the sensible thing.

She'd spoken to Archie, to Mary Margaret, and both of them told her that it was her choice to make. She had to do the right thing for Henry, even if the right thing was raising her hands, surrendering, and backing away. She didn't trust Regina as far as she could throw her, but she also knew she didn't have the right to force her hand.

She hated it.

She hated every bit of it.

The idea of leaving Henry in Regina's care left a bad taste in her mouth, but until Regina cooled off, they couldn't discuss things like rational adults. The only comfort she had was that she could visit, and that Regina would never intentionally cause Henry any harm.

So she spoke to Regina, she laid out her plans, and Regina looked happier than Emma had ever seen her. She thought she'd won, Emma thought vaguely. Even now, rather than putting Henry first, Regina was thinking of a petty victory over someone she hated.

To Emma's surprise, Regina offered her an apple turnover, fresh out of the oven. It seemed an odd gesture, but if they were going to part well, Emma was willing to accept a little weirdness. 

Looking back, she should have trusted her gut.

Anna was right. 

Sometimes, she could tell when people were lying. It was a fallible skill. But she always, always knew when something was wrong, when she should act. Her gut told her to get Henry out of town before worse things could happen, and he insisted they stay. She should have taken him, whether he wanted to go or not.

That was the thought beating against her mind as she tried to wake him.

One bite of a turnover made by Regina, and he was unconscious.

One bite and he was pale and cold and unresponsive, as if he were dead.

A turnover made by Regina.

She hadn't believed Regina would stoop to murder. She hadn't wanted to believe it.

Her hands shook as she called for an ambulance, and she could barely speak, barely explain.

It was like Graham all over again. She tried to do the right thing for him, and he ended up motionless, pale, dead.

The person on the line talked her through checking his vitals, but it felt useless, just waiting there. She grabbed the turnover - whatever was in it had to have an antidote - and scooped Henry up in her arms. He was heavier than he looked. Deadweight. The word tolled in her head like a bell.

She grit her teeth, hoisting him over her shoulder and ran for the door. She tried not to think what would happen if he died. If he was gone. She tried not to think how it would feel to have nothing again.

She descended the stairs as quickly as she dared, relieved beyond the telling as she saw the flashing lights pull up outside. The paramedics were rushing towards the door as she ran out. They took one look at her face, then opened up the back of the ambulance, letting her set Henry down.

She tried to keep her voice calm, like she had learned to do years before, explained what had happened and stood numbly as they checked him. One of them offered her a plastic bag for the pastry that was half-crushed in her hand.

They spoke to her, trying to keep her calm, but all she could do was growl at them to get her son to the hospital. The sirens wailed and she sat, shaking, watching as one of the paramedics - she couldn’t even recall if it was a man or a woman - worked on Henry.

Whale was waiting when they reached the hospital, and she had to repeat it again, wasting time, again. She all but threw the bagged pastry at him, but he shot it down. It would be easy to blame Regina, so very easy, but if the pastry didn’t…

“What else could it be?” she demanded, pleaded. She needed something, an answer, something or someone to hit. 

“I don’t know,” Whale said, honestly. “But that’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Emma felt like the world was slipping under her feet. She groped for Henry’s cold, limp hand. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

Whale didn’t look at her. “We just need to stabilise him, because he’s slipping away.” He raised his eyes to her. “Is there anything else that you can remember? Any little detail?”

Emma stared at him. Words. Why all the words. “I already told you everything!” she snarled. “Do something!”

“I understand you’re frustrated, Miss Swan,” he said, too calm, too confident. “But I need something to treat.” 

Emma whirled away from him, grabbing Henry’s rucksack from the floor, where it had been dropped. He hadn’t even had time to take it off before he collapsed. 

Whale was still talking calmly. “Right now, there is no explanation,” he said. “It’s like…”

Henry’s book spilled out of the rucksack onto the bed, and Emma stared at it, reaching for the leather cover. Henry was poisoned. Henry was dying. There was no cure, but what if… 

“Like magic,” she breathed.

If it was all true, if Henry was right, if there was magic, then magic could do what science couldn’t. Magic could save him. If he was right, then she would damn well find the magic herself and make him better.

“Henry! Where‘s my son?” 

Regina’s voice brought her back to herself, and she whirled around. “You did this!”

“What are you doing?” Regina exclaimed, as if she was the innocent party, as if she was blameless, as if their child had just fallen ill by sheer chance.

It took very little to get the truth out of the woman who was the Mayor. And the Queen. 

That was enough to make Emma back up. She’d expected derision, denials, mockery, but instead, Regina admitted it, admitted that Emma herself was the target of the curse that was now laid on Henry, and worst of all, admitted there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it.

“What can we do?” Emma asked, leaning numbly against the wall.

Regina was silent for a moment. “There’s one person in town who knows about magic,” she said, the words forced through pale, trembling lips. It wasn’t fear of Emma’s anger causing that, Emma knew. Regina was scared of someone else, and there was only one person in town who had threatened her at all before.

“Mr Gold,” Emma said quietly.

Regina’s face was ashen. “He goes by Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, her voice raw. “And he isn’t going to be happy to see me.”

Anna. Regina had done something to Anna.

“We’re going,” Emma said, catching her by the arm and shoving her back out into the hall.

Whale barely gave them a glance as they headed out of the ER and into the corridors that lead to the intensive care unit.

Regina hesitated outside the ward.

"What are you waiting for?" Emma demanded angrily, shoving her aside. She pushed the door open, then stopped short.

Gold was sitting by the bed, his forearms resting on the bed, Anna's right hand cradled between his. What caught Emma's attention was the silence. The machines had been switched off, which normally would be a good sign, but Anna was still and silent and anything but good. 

"Gold," Emma said quietly.

"She's still breathing for now," he murmured. "They don't know if she'll wake." He looked up at Emma. "You're late."

That more than August's reproaches hit her hard. "You knew?"

He inclined his head. "I did," he said. "But I couldn't help you."

"Couldn't?" Emma said hoarsely. 

His eyes flicked beyond her, to Regina. "Ask your friend," he said darkly. "She was the puppetmaster."

Emma glanced back, then stepped further into the room. “And you can help now?”

Gold’s eyes were fixed on Regina. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice thick with malevolence. “Can I, dearie?”

Regina’s heels clicked on the floor as she took a step closer, but no more than that. “Henry’s dying,” she said. “You can do anything you damn well need to do if it means he’ll live.”

Gold’s features twitched tightly, as unlike a smile as an expression could be. “Ask me nicely, dearie,” he whispered. “Make me a promise you won’t dare to break.”

“Gold, we don’t have time for this,” Emma said sharply.

He looked up at her, cold and unfathomable. “Belle had to wait,” he said. “Years, she had to wait. Your boy has time yet.”

Regina hesitated.

“For God’s sake, Regina!” Emma swore, whirling on her. “Henry’s going to die!”

Regina looked lost, terrified, her hands shaking by her sides. “Please,” she whispered. “Help us.”

There was the smallest, softest of sighs from Gold. “Very well.”

Emma spun back to face him. “What do I have to do?”

He looked back at Anna, lifting her hand to rest his cheek against the back of her palm. “Do you know about the power of True Love, Miss Swan?” he asked, his voice so quiet she could barely hear it.

“Biggest magic in the world, right?” Emma said, folding her arms over her chest, as if she wasn’t talking magic with Rumpelstiltskin, with the Evil Queen standing not five steps behind her. “The kind of magic that can break any curse.”

“Yes, indeed,” he murmured. “And it just so happens that I have bottled some.”

“Impossible,” Regina whispered.

He smiled quietly. “Ambitious, perhaps,” he said, “But never tell me something is impossible. I will always find a way.” He looked at Emma. “I crafted it from strands of your parents’ hair: the most powerful potion in all the realms.” He gently set Anna’s hand back down on the bed. “I infused the curse that brought us here with a single drop. A little… safety valve, you might say.”

“You treacherous…” Regina’s whisper was cut off as if she feared he might rebuff them.

Emma stared at him. “That’s why I’m the Saviour,” she said.

He nodded, his eyes on her face. “And now, you have to fetch it.”

“And it’ll save Henry?”

“It’ll do a lot more than that,” Gold replied. “Gird yourself, Miss Swan. Her Majesty has an old friend she needs to introduce you to, in the basement.”

“She has it?” Regina said, startled.

“She?” Emma echoed.

“Not has,” Gold murmured. “Swallowed.” He smiled without humour. “You might want to find dear Charming’s sword, dearie. After all, a hero’s only as good as her weapon.”

“Why am I not liking the sound of this?” Emma said, turning to Regina.

Regina jerked her head towards the door. “Because you have the right idea,” she replied. “Come with me.”

Emma glanced at Gold - Rumpelstiltskin - who nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, turning away from them and back to his lover.

Emma drew a breath and followed Regina - the Evil Queen - out into the night.

 

_______________________________________________________

 

Ashley was terrified.

Mr Gold had called her from the hospital.

She still owed him, he reminded her, and if she wanted to help Anna, to make amends for that night so many months before, she knew she had to do what he was telling her. It was just lucky that Sean was home for the night. She kissed his brow and left him sleeping.

It was quiet in Storybrooke and the night was cold, as she hurried out to Sean’s truck, setting the sleeping Alexandra into her car seat, tucking the blanket neatly around her. It felt better to have her close. If she didn’t, then they might try and take her away.

The truck started quietly for once, and Ashley reversed out onto the street, driving towards the centre of town, stopping in briefly at Gold‘s apartment.

Why the Mayor and the Sheriff were at the library, she didn’t know, but that was where Gold said they would be. There was a light on in the building and she parked outside, leaving the truck unlocked. Alexandra was still fast asleep, chewing on her fist.

Ashley took her purse out from under the passenger seat and opened it.

God, she was scared.

Gold had dryly pointed out that she wasn’t doing anything she hadn’t done before, and this time, it was against a woman who had poisoned her own son.

There were whispers around town about why Henry Mills was lying in the ICU department. No one knew the truth, but when Gold said that the Mayor had poisoned him, there was such loathing in his voice, such anger, that she couldn’t help but believe it was true.

The can of mace was cold against her palm, and she looked at Alexandra, steeling herself. If she did this one thing for Gold, this one last thing, she was free of her obligations, and she and Sean wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

Even if it did mean assaulting the Mayor, and maybe even the Sheriff. 

It would save Anna’s life.

She didn’t know why or how, but she had her instructions. 

Ashley slipped out of the truck and closed the door as quietly as she could. The keys were still in the ignition. They would have to leave in a hurry, as soon as it was done, and she knew the Sheriff would hunt her down if she wasn’t out of sight as soon as possible. 

The door of the library was ajar, and she peeked in.

Mayor Mills was pacing around the floor, occasionally glaring at an open doorway in the wall. It looked like an elevator shaft or something. She didn’t see Ashley coming until it was too late and Ashley spun her around, the mace catching Regina squarely in the eyes.

Regina shrieked, flailing blindly at her, and Ashley shoved her back, sticking out her foot and tripping her. The Mayor went down with a heavy thump, and before she could get up, Ashley was on her knees behind her, tying her wrists as tight as she could.

Mayor Mills kicked and swore. “What the hell are you doing!”

“Repaying a favour,” Ashley gritted out through chattering teeth. She pulled off her scarf and tied it around Regina’s mouth to keep her from yelling and warning the Sheriff. The Mayor jerked and kicked so wildly that Ashley had to pin her legs down with her own body.

She was panting, shaken, when she heard the rattle of the elevator. 

The Sheriff.

She staggered over to the doorway and jerked on the levers. The elevator shuddered and jerked to a halt less than fifteen feet from the top of the shaft. It was enough. Ashley could hear the Sheriff yelling from inside the elevator.

“Regina? What’s happening?”

Breathless, Ashley couldn’t think of a response, not until Emma Swan climbed up through the roof of the elevator. Ashley felt like her heart was about to stop. The golden egg. That was what Gold had sent her for. She didn’t know why. She didn’t care. She just knew she had to get it, if everything was going to be okay.

“Sheriff!”

Emma looked up, startled and confused. “Ashley?”

“Mr Gold sent me!” Ashley called back. “In case you needed help! Something about fetching an antique?”

Emma stared at her. “Where’s Regina?”

Ashley knew she couldn’t lie outright. “Was she meant to be here?”

Emma’s expression turned stony, as if Regina had somehow let her down. “Right,” she said, hauling herself up onto the roof of the elevator, and searching the walls. 

“Do you want me to get a rope or something?”

“I’m good,” Emma said defiantly, struggling to clamber the walls with one hand occupied.

“Emma, you’re in a hurry!” Ashley pleaded, her heart racing. “Throw up that thing. I have the truck outside. I can get you back to the hospital in ten minutes.”

The Sheriff looked up at her. “You’ll wait there?”

“What would I want with some antique?” Ashley pointed out, hoping her voice wasn’t trembling as much as she was.

The Sheriff seemed to believe her, and the golden egg arced up through the air. Ashley caught it with both hands, then turned, and fled for the door, leaving Regina thrashing on the floor like a landed fish, blind and helpless. 

The door of the truck was open and Ashley leapt in, reaching for the key.

It was gone.

Ashley felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

“You want to tell me what you’re doing?”

She almost screamed at Sean’s voice. She jerked around in the seat to see him sitting in the back, half-hidden by the boxes stacked there. Through the window which was cracked open, she could see the keys dangling from his finger.

“Sean, please,” she whispered. “We have to do this.”

“This? What is this?” he asked.

“Please, Sean!” She forced the window open, snatching at the keys. “I’ll explain, I swear!”

He stared at her and something in her expression made him nod, dropping the keys into her hand. The engine roared to life, and as they sped away, she caught a glimpse of the Mayor and the Sheriff as they rushed out of the library. They didn’t look in her direction, though. They were going the opposite way.

The hospital.

Ashley put her foot down, accelerating in the direction of the woods. She glanced back to make sure Sean was holding on, then turned off the main road. 

Gold had been very specific about the location. The sky was growing lighter as she came into the last open ground for parking. She didn’t dare look up at the rearview mirror or meet Sean’s eyes, her hands gripping the steering wheel.

He must have climbed out, because he was there, opening the door.

“Ashley,” he said softly, “what’s going on?”

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I owed Mr Gold,” she said. “I have to do this. You know what he’s capable of.”

He covered her hand with his own. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said gently. “He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

She shook her head. “You can’t owe him,” she whispered. “If you owe him, he never forgets, and I want him to forget.” She twisted around in the seat and put her arms around him as tightly as she could. “I want it over, Sean. I want to know he’ll never come near us again.”

He held her, just stroking her hair, silent and strong and her rock. “He said this would be it,” he said quietly. “The last time you have to deal with him?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “We’ll be free,” she whispered. “Safe and free.”

Sean’s hands were warm on her shoulders and he gently pushed her back. “What do we have to do?” he asked. 

Ashley groped behind her, beside Alexandra’s car seat, finding the heavy golden egg. She brought it around and set it in her lap. “He says there’s something in it,” she said. “Something I need to toss in the wishing well.”

Sean was looking at her like she was nuts. “The wishing well? Gold says your debt’s cleared if you throw something from inside a gold vase in a wishing well?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Sean, if it gets him away from us…”

He nodded with a sigh. “So how do we get into it?”

Gold had told her where to find the key in his apartment, and she drew it out of her pocket. Part of her wished it was all a trick, but the key fitted into the lock and it opened with a soft click. They both held their breath as she opened the egg.

“What the hell is that?” Sean whispered, staring at the bottle of shimmering purple liquid. It almost looked alive.

“I don’t know,” Ashley replied unhappily. “But it has to go in the well. He said he would know if it didn’t.”

Sean picked up the bottle, turning it in his hands. “Will it make you feel better if we do it?”

Ashley nodded. “Please,” she said quietly.

Sean nodded. “Bring Alexandra,” he said simply. “We’ll get it over with together, and if he has any doubts that you did what he asked, he can take it up with me.”

Ashley wished she had the words to express how grateful she was, but she could only nod, turning back in the seat to unfasten Alexandra and lift her up into her arms. 

It was a quiet morning, the sun only just cresting the horizon, and it was cool. Sean offered her his hand, and for a moment, Ashley could pretend they were just going for a normal walk on a normal day through the normal forest.

The well was in sight when Sean said quietly, “Do you think he’ll hold up his end?”

Ashley stumbled. It felt like the world had shifted under her feet, and she held Alexandra closer, catching her breath. The air tasted different. Smelled different. She looked up at her husband, the father of her child. “Rumpelstiltskin never breaks his deals,” she said. 

Sean - no, Thomas looked at her. “Ella…”

She smiled, knowing now that if they did what Rumpelstiltskin asked, she would be free of him forever, no more threats, no more obligations. “Let’s finish this, Thomas,” she said. “We do this, and we’re free of him.”

He squeezed her hand. “You, me, and our daughter.”

Ella nodded, feeling the world was slowly setting to rights again. “Our family.”

Together, they walked towards the wishing well. 

 

________________________________________

 

“How is she?”

Rumpelstiltskin raised his head wearily to look towards the door, where a familiar woman was standing, a robe pulled close around her. He could hear the distant sounds of the ICU, the frantic calls of the nurses, the clatter of shoes.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

Kathryn Nolan smiled quietly. “I’m here,” she said. “I’m alive, thanks to you.” 

Rumpelstiltskin lowered his eyes. “She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to be hurt on her account,” he murmured, looking at Anna. 

Belle. 

She was barely breathing, only tiny, shallow breaths. He had hoped that Miss Swan would have finished what Regina had started, that everything would be as it should be, but from the sounds in the ICU, his vision had deceived him again. 

“She wouldn’t have known it was you,” Kathryn said, stepping a little way into the room, closing the door over behind her. “I’ve heard the rumours that follow you: you could kill a man in front of his family and still get away with it.”

Rumpelstiltskin glanced over at her. “And here you are, in the same room as me.”

“Because I know you wouldn’t,” Kathryn said quietly. “There’s no gain for you. It might have started out that you wanted to prove something to her, but it’s not about her anymore.” She studied him pensively. “She saw something good in you, a spark.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twisted wryly. “And now, you do too?”

“You helped me out of a shallow grave,” she replied. “You wrapped a coat around me and stopped me shaking.” The woman approached the bed with all the grace of a born Queen. “I know what I saw, Rumpelstiltskin.”

He looked at her, startled, then rose on the opposite side of the bed, trying desperately to gather up the shards of his broken mask. “Why, Princess Abigail! How delightful to see you.”

She raised a hand, a brief, minimalist gesture. “No,” she said softly. “No games. I came here to thank you, Rumpelstiltskin. The man. Not the monster everyone else sees.” Despite her loose robe, her hospital tunic, she bowed with an elegance any Queen would envy. “You have my gratitude.”

He stared at her warily, sinking back down into the seat by the bed. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice harsh and unsteady.

“I want nothing,” Princess Abigail, daughter of Midas, replied. “I only came to offer a hand in friendship, should you accept it.” 

“Friendship?” he snorted. “You offer to befriend me?”

Her blue eyes held no pity nor derision, only quiet and confident resolve. “You saved my life,” she said. A small smile curled her lips. “I think that’s a good foundation to start on.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked away, uncertain. It was true that there were Royals who weren’t cruel and selfish people, attaining glory by treading on the backs of the people who knelt before them, but they were rare. Even rarer still were the ones who were wise and good. 

The Princess sat down on the opposite side of the bed, looking at Belle. “Is she going to recover?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Rumpelstiltskin said, his voice drawn, lost. He glanced over at her. “You would like her,” he offered tentatively. “She’s far too clever for her own good.”

Princess Abigail smiled. “I’m sure I will,” she said. 

“Will,” he echoed numbly.

Princess Abigail nodded. “The curse is broken. Someone around here will be able to…” She paused, frowned, rising, looking out of the window. “What’s…”

Rumpelstiltskin twisted in his seat, relief washing through him. Little Ella had done as she had promised. Their deal was kept. The bottle of true love’s essence was cast into the well, and magic was coming back.

He rose from the seat, as the power surged. “It’s time,” he whispered, gathering magic to him like an old friend. He drew on the most potent of healing powers, and leaned down over Belle and kissed her. 

 

________________________________________________

 

There was light, soft and warm, and much gentler than her prison.

Belle squinted, opening her eyes, her vision slow to come into focus. 

“Belle?”

She recognised the voice even before she could make out the details of his face, and the smile came quickly. “Rumpel?”

The sound he made was somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and she felt his lips on hers again. She could taste salt, and she lifted a trembling hand to touch his cheek. He was crying. Rumpel was crying over her, as if he could hardly believe she was kissing him.

For a moment, she couldn’t remember why or why his face was human and why his eyes were brown. She didn’t know how he’d slipped from his cell or why she was in a bed that was soft and flat.

Then she remembered

She remembered being held, chained and beaten, in front of him like a piece of fresh meat, and she remembered his anger and his desperation boiling over. She remembered him swearing himself to Regina, if only she was safe, if only she was unharmed, if only she was out of harm’s way and he could take care of her. The man who never bound himself to anyone, swearing away his freedom to give Belle her own.

And from that moment, she was Anna. 

Anna French. 

A poor little church mouse of a woman, who should have been broken by poverty and starvation in an apartment barely big enough to warrant the name. It should have taken a noblewoman’s spirit and crushed it, but it wasn’t the building that made the home. It was the people who lived there.

Anna French lived with the man she loved, and he protected her and spoiled her and doted on her, and yes, loved her. He let her seek out her own career, and listened raptly when she came home to tell him of her adventures. He tried not to laugh when she cooked badly. He held her tight against the cold.

He was her friend, her companion, her lover.

And now, he was searching her face, as if afraid who might be looking at him, as if she might have closed her eyes and come back as someone else, as if she would regret every moment spent as that poverty-cursed woman.

Belle smiled, touching his cheek gently. “Can we go home?” she asked.

“Home?” he echoed. “Which home?”

His tears were hot against her fingertips. “Either of them,” she replied. “The Dark Castle or the apartment.” The relief in his expression was tangible. He kissed her then, with a clumsy urgency that took her breath away, and she whispered against his lips, “Our home.”


End file.
